


It isn't in my blood

by Iniquitys-perk (Jiminspiration), pyres



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiminspiration/pseuds/Iniquitys-perk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyres/pseuds/pyres
Summary: Dean Winchester is a Demon and Sam is doing everything he can to save him; But it's hard to save someone who doesn't want to be saved. Perhaps even harder when they want to hurt you for trying.Co-written with my partner in crime.





	It isn't in my blood

**Author's Note:**

> If noncon bothers you, not a good read. It's implied that Soulless Sam took advantage of Dean, and Demon Dean is surely taking advantage of Sam now. 
> 
> Loosely follows the framework set by the show, but don't hold me to the details. Some things are shortened, some things are left out, Some things are changed.

Dean has sacrificed so many parts of himself to save the world in his thirty something years. He wasn’t quite sure he had many parts left to give. But if there was opportunity to try to give what he had left for the good of others, he always did. 

He wakes up in his room at the bunker feeling like an empty husk. Everything is cold and dull and his chest feels carved out. His free hand came up to touch where the knife had gone in, feeling where his shirt was ripped and his skin was caked in blood. 

On instinct he tensed his other hand and found it curled around the hungry first blade. Something within him felt sated by the feel of it in his palm. He exhaled as everything came back to him and when he looked up it was at Crowley’s smug face.

To say he felt nothing was a lie. Being a demon didn’t take away Dean’s ability to feel. But it largely favored his negative feelings. The resentments he harbored. Still, there had to be some sort of love left for the things he was attached to, because how Crowley gets Dean to leave the bunker with him is a few choice words about this being a part of his curse. That the darkness inside of him was now a part of him. 

A curse he couldn’t even escape in death. Something he had been aware of, thanks to Cain. Crowley had taunted him over and over that he would be like him when this was over if he didn’t survive.

And here he was, tearing out of the dirt roads in the impala with Crowley giddy at his side, saying they could go run amok on a little r and r as long as Dean wanted while he came to terms with his new being. 

A part of him must want Sam’s help, to leave such a sorry note. Let me go, Sam. As if. They could never let one another go. It was a stronger curse than the mark of Cain etched into his arm. Stronger than the hand print from when Castiel pulled him from hell.

They drive for days, not needing to stop for rest besides gas. The instincts are there, to keep the impala because it had meaning somewhere in his soul, but the old devotion and love lay dormant. 

Crowley seemed so pleased that Dean was with him, but the new Demon was only tolerating it. He didn’t feel the same way. 

Their first night stopping in a doomed town, Dean lay on the motel bed utterly still while Crowley undressed him and made himself familiar with all of his scars and musculature. His transformation hadn’t changed his form one bit.

Weeks pass before he subconsciously began to yearn for Sam. He spends his days drinking and picking fights and being generally obnoxious while Crowley kept his brother in the dark and at bay.

It’s on the side of the road, looking over a map on his phone where Sam had been checking off favorite places of Dean’s on his search for him, that they meet again. It was amusing, for him to think that Dean would want to go anywhere that he previously enjoyed when he had all of his dark rage burning in his chest. 

Sam’s map began to glitch and act up from the arrival of a demon, not that he would likely jump to that explanation for the electromagnetic interference.

“Come on, Michigan?” He asked, startling Sam. “Why the hell would i go to Michigan?”

Dean stood there, dirty blonde hair combed neatly, a maroon button up open over a dark solid t shirt, a pair of dark wash jeans to match. He was cleaned up in a way that said he wasn’t running around getting into the same type of trouble as he did as a hunter. 

There was something different, though. His demeanor was so hard and cold, eyes held a glint of playful that was more on the edge of dangerous. He didn’t look happy to see Sam. He was looking at Sam like a plaything.

“Dean?” Sam seemed so incredulous, obviously travel weary and so sick with worry for his brother. He’d been following an invisible trail for weeks, and almost like a prayer, as he felt frustrated with where to turn, here Dean was. 

He looked around for signs of travel and found none, brows giving a confused sort of tick. 

There was a guarded suspicion coming off of Sam. Too used to being burned to run up for a hug. He could tell something wasn’t quite right. This was too easy. 

They circled one another, Dean moving in a wide half circle as Sam turned to follow him, his back against the beat up suv he was using. 

Dean tilted his chin up a little at Sam, drinking in his suspicions and scraping off the surface of his worries without even trying. Sometimes it felt like there was too much power brimming inside, his smoke too confined. 

He came to a stop a few feet from Sam, hand sliding into his pocket casually as he felt Sam gear up to speak again, giving his analysis a break.

“Where have you been, man? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

There was that puppy worry, his forehead all creased with it as he looked at Dean, searching for the protective big brother that he missed. 

But he wasn’t here. 

Dean’s lips pursed in a way that said ‘so what’. “I told you not to.” A rise and fall of a shoulder that emphasized how little he cared that Sam had been trying to find him. Too tight and controlled to show anything really casual or relaxed. 

“Is it killing you?” Dean asked carefully. “Not knowing where i am?” There was finally the edge of a smirk and Dean’s boot lifted, taking a step forward. He felt his chest tighten with some sort of excited feeling when Sam tensed up on the knife in his jeans behind his back. 

He breathed in the smell of iron and salt from Sam and settled into place, no plans on moving closer than the few steps away he was at now. 

“Where’s my brother?” Sam growled, the knife at his side just as quickly as Dean blinked, but he didn’t feel threatened, knowing there was no intent behind his fear. “What did you do to him?”

A smile. 

“He’s right here, Sammy.” He opened his arms in presentation, even turned for him in a slow three sixty. When he was facing him again, his eyes flushed black and he was left watching the way Sam swelled up with anger and full alarm thinking a demon was running around in his brother’s meat suit, not knowing it was so, so much worse. 

He felt struck suddenly by wanting him to be tormented by that thought for awhile. 

Before Sam could make a move further than telling the demon to get out of his brother-- Dean was gone, leaving him panting and disoriented with the news. 

Crowley curled his lip in some sort of disgust when he found him drinking later on. “You reak of Moose.” He commented with a little too much feeling for Dean. Like there was some sort of problem with him being near his brother. 

The King of Hell’s jealousy was never more tangible to him than it was now.

Dean disregarded him the same way he always has, though he did seem to tolerate his presence a lot more like this. He didn’t move as Crowley as slid in next to him at the bar, his hand moving over his thigh as he pawed for attention with his banter while Dean drank and grunted a few times in response or acknowledgement. 

Until Dean slipped through his fingers to cause trouble and commiserate in this small town bar by singing karaoke songs everyone hated and picking fights with people who asked for it. Crowley watched him the whole time, some bored goons at his left and right. 

He was waiting for the day that he realized Dean wasn’t going to be his Prince of Hell. Knight of Hell. Whatever it was Crowley wanted him to be, he wasn’t it. 

It’s towards the end of the night, back in their room when Crowley starts in on his together forever crusade. 

He didn’t want to rule hell with Crowley. He didn’t want to do much of anything.

Just to shut him up, he set his empty whiskey glass down and he felt Crowley’s eyes following his movements even as he kept talking about their future. 

He advanced on him until Crowley’s back was against the wall and they were kissing. 

Finally, he stopped talking. His droning lilt was replaced with some low pleased noises as Dean’s hands began to strip his tailored suit piece by piece.

It seemed this was a very effective way in distracting Crowley from harassing him down to Hell. And the sin of it satisfied something in Dean in a small way. 

When Dean got bored with it, Crowley summoned women to add some pizazz to the rendezvous and there was no more chatter between them for the rest of the night and well into the morning, just the way Dean liked it. 

The days probably seemed to long and molded together to Sam who was reaching out to anyone that he thought might need warning that Dean wasn’t himself while also trying to get ahold of ingredients for summoning, and exorcism.

But Crowley wasn’t so keen on answering summons, and the crossroads demons long ignored any calls from a Winchester. 

Dean imagined it must make him so sick, thinking of a demon occupying him. But how hopeful it also would make him, hopeful that his brother could be easily saved this time. An exorcism and goodbye Johnny. 

The disappointment was sure to be crushing. The thought of it made Dean feel anxious to see him again. 

This was why he’d left that note when he first realized what he was becoming. He knew he couldn’t leave Sam alone, but he could have never predicted that he would feel so destructive. 

What was worse than leaving Sam alone in the world? Forcing him to see what his Big Brother had become. 

It was while Sam was out talking to people and falling into that grey area of morality that he was famous for that Dean began to watch him. He sat in the back of a no name bar, curious as he eavesdropped.

It was typical Sam that he didn’t even feel Dean’s presence. There were instances of being spotted by Sam (purposefully) over the past few days (there one second and gone the next) and he could tell it was taking a toll on his brother. He was getting to the kind of desperation that made him reckless.

Reckless in the form of teaching an innocent about the crossroads. Oh, Sammy. That natural born darkness just never left him. He could play good guy all he wanted, but coaxing this idiot to sell his soul for Sam’s own selfish gain was so evil Dean couldn’t help but to crack his neck in restraint. 

He didn’t know if he wanted to fuck Sam the damaged way he was, or drag him to hell so they could be the same, but the feelings were intense. 

Crowley may want to be partners in chaos, but Dean was getting different ideas seeing Sam behaving so badly. 

When Sam hid in the bushes post lesson in ‘How to Sell your Soul’, Dean was in the shadows. His expression flicked to something amused seeing his oversized (moose really was an appropriate nickname) brother trying to remain unnoticed while also trying to hear and see what was going on. 

He leaned against his brother’s car, arms crossed while he watched him so intently focused on his plan. He wasn’t paying attention to anything but the place the demon was to spawn. 

Dean ended up leaned back on his hands, watching from afar while Sammy bound Crowley’s underling to try to get her talking about where the King of Hell was hiding his possessed brother. 

They’d both tortured their fair share of cross roads demons, that part wasn’t new, but Sam knew that she was never going to talk. Dean, even the way he was now could tell just by looking at Sam, but he was still doing it because he felt like he had no other options.

This demon wasn’t going to sell out the King of Hell. The punishment would be worse than anything Sam Winchester could do. 

Dean moved closer when Sam really got started, wanting a better view, but he was still silent, not wanting to ruin it so soon. Not when he was enjoying the pained noises from the demon, and the intense look on Sam’s face. 

His brother enjoyed this a little too much, but Dean knew the feeling. Torture had always been something that raised their adrenaline. 

“I heard the rumors. I said ‘no, that can't be.’ A Winchester, one of us? But it's true, isn't it? Whatever soul you had; whatever boy scout code you cuddled up to at night; it's all gone. Leaving what? Look at you!” The feminine voice aimed at Sam but it felt like something that should be said of Dean, and that just made the hard to control feelings about Sam feel that much harder to control. 

“Where is Crowley?” Sam growled in return, and Dean felt the eye roll she gave to the core. It was such predictable and pointless line of questioning. They all knew it. 

Dean meant to interrupt their back and forth, a forgetful exchange of where is he and i don’t know. But Sam slit her throat and his lashes fluttered, teeth baring a little as he watched the sticky red spilling down into the cup Sam held to collect it. 

He had the overwhelming urge to watch Sam drink it, but he knew those days were over. 

“Where’s my brother?!” It was practically a roar this time, and when she answered,”Dead.” Dean couldn’t suppress the emotionless laugh. 

“Dead? Sweetheart, I’m not dead.” Dean’s eyes followed Sam’s startled fumbling, spilling the blood all over himself and aiming that knife at him in defense. Cute. 

“Not any more dead than you.”

“There’s your brother.” She strained. “Now let me go.” 

“Oh, don’t let her go, Sammy. She hasn’t told you where Crowley is, yet.” Dean egged him on a little, enjoying her scowling.

It was disappointing that Sam didn’t listen and continue to try to pry information from her. Instead his attention was turned to Dean. 

And the holy water to the face that followed was both infuriating and disorienting. When he looked up at Sam it was with a scowl and black eyes.

“You missed the bitch.” He wiped his phantom wet/burning face and the black eyes eased away.

When he grew bored of the back and forth and the added comments by the sarcastic third party, he ended it with a first blade to the chest.

Just like that, he caused the horror to saturate Sam’s whole image and he could only smirk, hand flexing on the handle of the knife, feeling so satisfied by it.

Sam breathed in that heavy panicked sort of way he did when he was afraid and he was left with only Dean’s haunting laughter as he vanished.

Dean showed up at the Black Spur just in time for Crowley to show immense disappoint in him for encouraging Sam’s behavior to search for him. He worked tirelessly to keep him from discovering their location and here was Dean dangling himself in front of his brother like a lure. 

He had a half a mind to let Sam crash the party and ruin Dean’s disgusting parade of self loathing.

Leave it to Dean Winchester to become the epitome of a trashy human being as a demon in limbo.

“She worked for me, did you forget that?” Crowley was seething a little. Dean had to admit he preferred this tone to the usual low rumble that was probably meant to entice.

There was a smirk as he downed a shot and looked over at Crowley. 

“Does it look like i care?” He gave the demon a closed mouth smile that was stretched on his tired face. There was even an extra infuriating hand that came up to present his own face. 

“Promote someone.” He signaled for more shots, drinking from his beer while he waited.

“Well, i’ll have to won’t i? Maybe i’ll put you to work.” The king grumbled like a petulant child, losing his patience for Dean and fast.

Dean didn’t even need to answer, his full amused expression said ‘go to hell’, but he was in such a good mood after playing with Sam that he couldn’t help himself.

“I’d rather go to hell.” He tipped his shot at Crowley before knocking it back.

“Great. I’ll arrange an uber black, let me grab my things.” Crowley responded without a beat, and Dean shook his head while pushing up off the bar stool to go cause trouble by the dart board.

He’d buried the first blade in that cross road whore when Sam had all but refused to continue torturing her knowing he had an audience.

It had left his thirst for Sam dry, but it fully sated his hunger for murder. 

It kept the demon at bay, or so Crowley said. He guessed that felt right. He felt more in control when he gave in to the feeling and let the first blade take what it wanted.

Dean flirted casually with Anne-marie, nothing too serious, not really enough to be considered hounding like he could do sometimes when he was being really obnoxious. But enough to tell Crowley that he was safe to try to get some work done now that Dean had planted himself here with her. 

He left his goons behind in the bar, and several more in town keeping an eye out. They were on strict orders to blend.

The last thing he needed was a routine investigation into suspicious activity becoming Sam Winchester actually finding them. And the ones who took orders directly from him were smart enough to do as they were told.

When she was done working, the blonde joined Dean. And before he could cause too much trouble, she enticed him away where they spent the night in his ‘shared’ room with Crowley. The King of Hell didn’t sleep, but reluctant demon Dean succumbed on occasion. 

She had no idea most of his enthusiasm was caused by his brother, but she also wasn’t the first woman he took his sexual frustration for Sammy out on. 

That had been a lifelong flaw that he couldn’t blame on the whole demon thing.

His first sin in life had been loving his brother a little too much.

Stolen moments in the back of the impala with his tongue down Sammy’s throat while John worked. Dean had been newly seventeen and too hot for his own skin, Sam trailing behind at thirteen and following big brothers lead. 

It wasn’t ever taking advantage, deep down Dean knew that. Sam had been tripping over himself about Dean since puberty started. But now, evil and broken, the memories feel like there had been a corruption. That Dean had drug his brother into the depths of sin. Sexual and incestuous and a surefire ticket to hell.

Sam would be just like him one day. Especially without Dean’s guilt and need to protect him keeping him on the straight and narrow.

He knew part of his problem was that phone call he received earlier. Someone had his brother. Dean could tell by the sound of the strange voice that Sam wasn’t in any real trouble. No, this guy was trying to lure Dean. He didn’t succeed physically. But he had caught him up a little mentally. He didn’t like the idea of someone distracting Sam from their game.

He Is disturbed from the thoughts to Anne-Marie waking him, thinking he was in a hungover stupor and needed human remedies. If anything, he felt like shit from sleeping.

The smokey part of him felt so suffocated. He got up and stretched and answered on autopilot, subconsciously reaching out for something real and just like that the demon snubbed it out, incapable of holding onto his moments of normal. 

Every word, every action felt like an internal battle. Crowley kept telling him to pick a side but Dean didn’t know how. It felt like he would always be in this dizzying limbo.

“Pants.” Crowley ordered and Dean gave a teenage sort of huff and eye roll as he snatched up his jeans.

He didn’t even know what was going on, he largely hadn’t been paying attention.

“Since you want to play with Moose, why don’t you finish out his work, hm? I’ve got a deal that needs completing and you’ve got a murderous arm.” The demon smoothed his suit, not batting an eyelash at Dean’s look. It spoke mostly of ‘why should i listen to you’.

But killing sounded okay. So he didn’t really put up much of a fight. He went where he was told, and well… he wasn’t really good at the whole following orders thing like this. Go figure.

Crowley is so angry with him. Probably the most angry with him that he’s been in a long time. Dean doesn’t really know the significance of it in the heated exchange. It was rather one sided, all of Crowley’s anger was met with a wall of disregard from the retired hunter. 

What was he going to do about it? Dean wasn’t another one of his devoted followers. Crowley was the one that wanted to be with him, it wasn’t the other way around. 

And he does something Dean doesn’t expect: he sells him out to Sam.

Goodbye, trashy paradise. Goodbye Anne-Marie.

Fucking Crowley. This was just fantastic.

Not one to run, Dean planted himself in the black spur at the piano with a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. And Crowley had the joint cleared.

When Sam walked in, not knowing what he was going to find, it was just Dean, cigarette stuck between his lips, a finger of liquor in his glass atop the wood above him.

He looked up through his lashes when Sam entered, settling back a little. His hand came up to remove the cigarette. He exhaled smoke while snubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Sammy.” He greeted, not seeming surprised to see him, which probably made it look like a trap. 

“I thought i told you to let go, little brother.” He teased, as if he hasn’t been begging Sam for the chase just with his presence. Crowley hadn’t exactly won this one this time.

He just changed the game.

 

Weeks of running himself ragged have culminated to this moment. Sam can't remember the last time he slept longer than the time it took to stop and charge his laptop. He hadn't swung for anything better than a pay by the hour room, and he was driving his cheap rental into the literal ground. He's been tracking everything he knows how to; weather patterns, sightings, petty crime, violent crimes, anything the brand of weird that could lead to his brother. Summoning demons and trying to extract information had been his next angle, but that always was more Dean's sort of thing. Someday, he thinks, he'll feel bad about the women. The ones who just had their bodies borrowed for a crossroads deal, whom he carved devil's traps right into their skin to keep the demons from smoking out. There was just no saving the host after something like that. It hadn't even been effective, at least not in the way he'd intended. Dean had shown up all on his own. 

The first few times, he hadn't been prepared for Dean's little visits. Hell, he hadn't even known what Dean was at first, but now he knew and for the first time the ball was in his court fair and square. Courtesy of Crowley of course. He'd still be frowning over maps and cruising the streets around the strip club if not for his flippant tip about a very specific bar where Dean had set up shop.

So here and now, he finally had a plan to match his unyielding determination to save his brother. Still it was with some level of trepidation that he pulled the demon cuffs from his back pocket. Beneath Dean's steady, cool gaze he feels unsure, like he's an eleven year old helpless kid all over again. He’s terrified of how badly Dean doesn't want to be saved. It's not something he's ever faced before, it's always been Dean pulling him out of the fire. Hell, even before all of this Dean had been resisting the mark, appalled at the things he'd done for it and desperate to escape it's pull. Sam doesn't know how, or what changed. But something had and it scared him that he wouldn't be able to fix it. 

But he had to try. If he didn't, they were both lost. 

“You know I can't do that, Dean.” His voice shook, threatened to break. A mixture of fear and helplessness swelling to the surface. Dean was supposed to be the rock, he was supposed to be the grasshopper on Sam's shoulder. They made each other better hunters even if they were each other's weak spots. 

The cuffs felt awkward and heavy in his hand, and he was acutely aware of how unevenly matched they were in this moment. Sam down one arm due to a dislocated shoulder, Dean hopped up on the mark; the first blade at his fingertips. He wasn't even sure if the cuffs would work on someone who wasn't possessed. The soul inside Dean may have been dark and festering but it was still very much his own. 

“You're my brother, and I'm here to take you home.” He affirmed, more to himself than to Dean but he still felt his brother needed to know: he wasn't giving up. No matter how many times he refused.

The first few steps towards him were stilted and tentative, one of the bracelets coming open in his fingers like a crooked smile. He knew this would be a fight, but couldn't help wishful thinking that Dean might come peacefully. Fear heightened inside, a drop of sweat rolling down his spine as Dean's hand ghosted over the blade to set his drink down. There would be no stopping Dean if he came at him with the first blade. 

 

“You're my brother, and I'm here to take you home.” He mocked him. “With what? Hm? With your puppy-dog eyes?,” Dean actually managed to laugh,”Oh, thanks, Sammy. I needed that.”

Dean’s careful gaze assessed the situation from where he was sat. It wasn’t a fair fight. He could practically kick Sam in the shoulder and fade away by the looks of the sling. His eyes moved over the blade and he gave a sigh. 

It wouldn’t be fun to use it now, not when Sam wasn’t at his best. 

Still, he made eye contact while his fingers brushed over the handle as he got up. He rounded towards Sam, stopping and tilting his head while he took him in head to toe. 

“Now, what do you think you’re going to do with those, Sammy?” He felt a little drunk on how afraid Sammy was. So determined to save Dean or to die at his feet. Anything to escape the nightmare. Dean knew that feeling, but the smokey core of him held no sympathy for Sam. 

“What’s the matter, Sam? You’re practically shaking.” It sounded so condescending. “Do i scare you that bad, baby brother?” He licked his lips. “Don’t worry. I don’t want you dead, Sam. I just want to bathe in your blood.” His teeth bared in a quick flash as he stepped forward, this time not as playful, like he meant to really put hands on his brother.

“Should i hold a hand behind my back?” He asked, thumb hooking in the back of his own jeans and he wiggled his other hand at Sam like he wanted to do hand to hand.

What he really wants is to put that hand around his throat, or did he want to use his teeth? There were so many urges and desires swirling around inside, so many possibilities it almost overwhelmed his thought process.

But there was clarity when his eyes caught Sam move, reacting accordingly to avoid contact. This was a dangerous game they were playing.

“I’m not leaving with you, Sam.” It was firm statement. Something Dean truly believed. “So, what are you gonna do?” It was a challenge, this time, not a musing. “Kill me?”

 

Neither of them are strangers to hurting one another with their words, spitting insults or goading one another in the heat of the moment. Cruel bombs formed by too much history, too many days together. But this is the first time he’s been threatened like this. Dean is stone cold sober and so calm. Unnerving didn’t even begin to cover it. 

The more he watched him, Sam got the impression Dean was playing with his food. This could’ve been over the minute he walked in the door, but for some reason this was fun for Dean. 

“I’m not leaving here without you.” Even if that meant he didn’t leave at all. He was going to save his brother or die trying. It was that simple. 

They were opposing magnets, every step from the other garnered the opposite in the other. Sam tried to advance, watching Dean pull to the right where his arm hung uselessly at his chest. Circling and pulling closer. For the first time in his life, Sam wants to run from a fight. The sensation locks up his legs, brings a fresh wave of sweat to his skin as his heart redoubled. He took a step back on reflex when Dean eased closer, though he tried to steal himself against the impulse it was useless. 

“Dean..” Whatever thought attached to that was lost by the smoke bomb that shattered through the window. It landed squarely between them on the worn wood, spinning lazily and already spewing a growing plume. Sam choked on his next breath, feeling his lungs resist and he stumbled away for the lit exit sign along the side of the building. 

In retrospect, this interruption saved him from whatever fate he would’ve met at Dean’s hands. It was just a shame that instead of regrouping or trying to improvise a new plan, he took the butt of a pistol to the temple and the world died in an explosion of colour.

He missed most of Cole and Dean’s scuffle, but managed to scrape himself off the ground in time to see the flash of silver, hear Dean’s low growl. Sam almost had to sit back down after the gash on his face reknit in a matter of seconds. He didn’t know a demon around that could do that. Even Abaddon had taken time to fix her meatsuit. The mark, the blade, they really wouldn’t let Dean die. 

His opening comes in the moments after, Dean’s lost in the violence, swinging again and again hauling Cole back to his feet any time he goes down just so he could take a few more. Sam took his time to palm the cap off his holy water, letting him get a few good licks in; his head was throbbing and he probably had another few weeks in the sling thanks to him. He had no business getting mixed up in their lives. He didn’t even know what monsters were. 

Sam got him good across the face, not sure why he was so alarmed to see Dean stumbling, steaming and spitting mad. He remembered a time when the Impala had broken down in the middle of nowhere in Nevada and Dean had guzzled holy water out of their little flasks and joked that he would be lethal to demons. He caught one of Dean’s pinwheeling arms and slapped the cuff on, grit his teeth when his fingers dug into his arm, trying to pull Sam away but he only closed the other loop around it. 

“Enough, Dean.” He was winded and a little taken aback. Sure he had Dean, but this was only the beginning. Sam hadn’t really counted on getting this far. 

 

Calmly, Dean picked up the first blade and tucked it into his waistband while Sam choked and stumbled helplessly. It didn’t bother Dean, nor did he rush to his brother’s aid. He let himself move outside the less conventional way, just in time to watch Cole knock baby brother’s lights into reset mode.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” That rough voice actually did seem pretty mystified. It was as satisfying as it was annoying. He’d been onto something with Sam, so close to grappling him.

“Let me guess. You’re a groupie.” Dean responded, stance calm and neutral. “Here for an autograph? It’ll cost you.”

“I knew your brother would lead me right to you if i let him go.”

Dean was an unreadable statue, but his mind wasn’t blank. This guy was proud of himself, obviously. But he was so naive and off base. Sam hadn’t led him anywhere. He had luck to thank for that. Or maybe Crowley. 

There was back and forth over why Dean was supposed to know Cole. And he chose to play ignorant without care. Pretend that he killed so many faces he couldn’t remember them all but that just wasn’t as true as the old Dean would like it to be. 

He remembered Edward Trenton, and it was such an efficient distraction; having this desperate and reckless boy in front of him picking a fight. He was dripping heavy emotion the whole fight that Dean fed off of. 

Anger was forefront but it rivaled only the weight of his loss. And with every one up Dean performed, he felt and saw Cole’s soul becoming more and more anguished. 

They told him the mark and the blade loved killing but no one ever warned him that hurting people this way could feel so good too.

Cole trained practically his whole life to avenge his Daddy and Dean was nearly squishing him into the ground with just the toe of his shoe. They weren’t in the same field at all, and Dean so enjoyed the look on his face when Cole realized that Dean was more than man, grinning like an asshole as he flashed his blacks.

“What did you think was gonna happen, son?” Dean turned Cole’s bloodied face towards him with his boot. “That you were gonna get me to say sorry? Beg for death?” He bent and got ahold of his jacket to haul him up. “You can’t even get me off of my fucking feet.” He pushed him back down with a smirk.

He felt good, knowing that this man was going to remember this moment and feel nothing but pain. Served him right for interrupting them. He had no idea what he was stepping in on here, and after everything Sam had put Dean through over the years, he had some torture coming to him. 

He went to reach for the first blade behind his back and that’s when Sam got him. 

Everything burned, the smoke scrambling under his meat to get away from the purified water. He felt blinded by the way it swept through his whole being despite only being whipped across his face. 

There’s no thoughts anymore, just pain and struggle, like a drowning victim trying to find the surface of the water. He felt the weight of the cuff on his wrist and all he can realize is that there was something to grab onto and it ends up being Sam. His fingers tightened around him stronger than he even realized he was doing. But the minute the cuff closed around his other wrist he felt the supernatural binding of it.

Little brother had won this round. 

His eyes stayed a piercing green and if looks could kill, Sam Winchester would have been struck down on the spot. No one had ever looked at him with such disdain, never mind his own brother. He hadn’t even been this murderous when he found out about the demon blood he’d been drinking in between fucking Ruby. 

But Sam tugged him to his feet and the feeling changed a little. His grin was something that showed his pretty teeth and he cracked his own neck.

“You’re gonna pay for that, Sammy.” It sounded like such a haunting promise. He felt sapped like this. His power edged down to something flat and unreachable and boy did that hungry part of him hate that.

Dean let Sam put him in the Impala’s backseat, watching him in the mirror with that steady glare, scowl on his lips. 

 

The weight of the keys feel heavy in his hands. It may not be his, but he’d missed the familiarity of this car. It took some finagling to get Dean secured in the back seat. Sam wasn’t leaving anything up to chance. Now that he had Dean he wasn’t going to let him get away again. He rounded the front, feeling Dean’s steady gaze follow him the whole way. He got the impression Dean was somehow more mad about the holy water to his face than the knife he’d taken shortly before; or maybe it was just being contained after weeks running wild. Either way, he’d sufficiently poked the bear. 

Dropping in to the driver’s seat, he was astounded by the amount of garbage. Take out, a dirty shirt, empty condom foils. You name it. 

“It’s filthy in here.” He murmured, face pulled in a low frown. Even in the darkest times, Dean loved this car unconditionally, had rebuilt it by hand more times than either of them could count. Keeping it mint was sort of a point of pride. Hell, he complained when Sam let drinks sweat on the leather seats between his thighs, he was that anal about it. 

It’s just a car, Sam.

Sam didn’t know what surprised him more, the words or the way Dean said his name. He sounded subdued; all of that playfulness and cunning guile was gone. 

“Just a--now I know you’ve gone dark side.” He coaxed past another car on the highway, listening to the engine tick subtly and he eased off the gas a little. Dean hadn’t even been topping off the oil compulsively every few stops. The way they both drove her, it tended to run low sometimes. 

Sam caught Dean’s eyes in the rearview, unable to read the expression he found there but not liking it all the same. It didn’t look like his brother looking back. 

 

It seemed like overkill, the cuffs, the deep part of the bunker, the devil’s trap. But Dean didn’t say anything about it. He felt pretty hollowed out.

His jaw tensed as they faced off rather unequally. Sam free and across the room, Dean bound in the chair. 

It was ironic though, how they were giving off opposing vibes. Dean was the cool anger and Sam was the one who was afraid.

“What now, Sam? Do you even know?” It wasn’t as playful but it was just as sharp. “You don’t really think the cure is going to fix this.” He could tell just by looking at Sam, even with his demon senses dampened.

“There’s nothing to fix. This is me. This is what i am. And you can’t do anything about it, Sam. I don’t want you to.”

He licked his lips.

“I don’t like shots, Sammy. You know I don’t like shots.”

He wasn’t exactly afraid but Dean was showing more of a reaction to the impending attempt at a cure than he had to anything else.

It’s telling enough that Dean is reacting in any way besides playful or ruthless. This aversion he had to the cure means he's onto something.

Sam filled one of the syringes carefully, rereading each step as he went, the book was crisp and unused. They hadn't done much field testing with the cure, it had mainly been speculation. 

“For what it's worth, I got your blood type.” He stood, syringe in one hand, holy water in the other. Dean was bristling with violence, drawn taut in the chair like a cable ready to snap. And Sam needed to be inside the trap with him to administer the dose so Dean gets another slash of water to occupy his attention while Sam plunged the needle into the biggest vein he could find. Trying to push it in but not rush enough to rupture is a few more panic gripped seconds longer than he'd like and by the time he was done he was stumbling away from Dean’s fury. 

It sounded like it was killing him. There were no two ways about it. Dean sounded like a monster being ripped apart, Sam had heard enough of them in his lifetime to know. 

 

Dean hardly has time to feel angry about the holy water before Sam poisons him. There’s so much darkness inside of him. The corruption of his soul by the mark was far bigger and more sinister than a run of the mill torture bred demon. 

He had all the makings of a knight of hell swirling around inside his meatsuit, the tendrils of it dug into him everywhere. 

He could feel it panicking, trying to get away from the bad touch but it had nowhere to go. He felt every second of it bubbling in reaction.

All he could compare it to was acid. It felt like Sam was injecting acid into his veins. All he knew was pain until it finished sizzling.

It left him breathing heavy and assaulting Sam with his eyes. 

“I’m going to ruin you.” He seethed. “You’ll wish you never went to that fucking bar.” He struggled once, weakened temporarily.

And Crowley finally showed up (out of sight) to retrieve the first blade.

The King of Hell doesn’t give anything away to Sam but he’s wondering if he did the right thing, leading him to Dean. 

But he knows one thing to be true. If Sam didn’t succeed in purifying his brother, Dean would seek Crowley for the blade. It could bring them together again.

Dean was decently recovered when Sam rejoined him.

“I told you to let me go. Why don’t you ever listen? Huh?”

 

Just seeing Dean still alive was a bit of a comfort but they still had so many treatments to go. Doses of blood at regular intervals. Some latin praying to do in between. It was going to be a long day and he wasn't sure he'd still have a brother in the morning. 

“I can't let you go. You're my brother.” Sam drew up a syringe, hesitating over the holy water this time. Dean seemed more subdued. Warn down by the purification already. 

“You didn't give up on me, even when I'd lost my soul, I'm not giving up on you.” He stood outside of the circle, holding up the canteen of water. “Do I need to use this?” 

If he didn't have to, he'd rather not wear Dean down with it. 

 

“I don’t know, do you?” Dean tensed on the restraints to worry Sam. But it only took a few rounds for him to give up the whole i’ll get ya ghost. Sam had him, and he didn’t need the holy water.

Though if he kept using it, it probably would have been beneficial to him.

It was working, not that either of them knew it. They were both in agony for different reasons and in turn blinded by it.

Dean began to reach out with sharp words because he couldn’t physical hurt Sam.

“You say brother, like that’s the reason you’re doing this.” Dean’s voice was rough with exhaustion but he still managed to heavily accuse Sam, his expression saying more than continuing his thought would’ve.

He was talking about what they didn’t talk about. What they’d never really talked about. The part of their relationship that was unhealthy and against those invisible laws of the universe.

“I left you for the King of Hell. I don’t want you, Sam. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

They were so many rounds in. A worrisome amount of rounds in and Dean was practically slumped in the chair, his body really under a lot of obvious stress. 

“You’re killing me.”

 

Dean may be starting to lose some of his edge, but it was like he'd looked into Sam's mind and pulled out the sharpest knives he could find. Their secret, and the fact that he might actually be killing him slow and painful. 

“It's working.” He said, voice firmer than he actually felt. The words weren't meant for Dean though. More of a personal reassurance. It had to be working. He didn't want to spend his last few hours with a Dean that still looked on him with such contempt. 

He marched into the devil's trap and dosed him. If Dean survived this, he was going to look like a junkie for weeks. Sam couldn't tell if he wasn't healing anymore because of the cuffs or because the treatment was working.

“I'll see you in an hour.” His voice was gruff, wrought with emotion. Dean had hit a little too close to home and Sam just needed some distance from his brother and his sharp tongue for a while. 

Sam really should have stuck around. At least for a little while longer. The moment the smoke was pushed down far enough into his mark that the trap thought he was human was tangible to Dean.

Instead of feeling his power dampened, he feels it gone.

But the Mark still had a hold on his mind, even if Sam had tricked his body.

Dean got out of those restraints and the minute he passed the threshold of the devils trap, he felt some of his rage helping to bring the hurt demon from the shadows.

He moved slow and efficient through the halls, mapping out the area he was very familiar with and realizing that Sam had not prepared for this. 

He’d never gave a thought to Dean getting out of that room. There were no protection symbols or extra traps that Dean doesn’t already know about. No extra holy water stashes laying about.

And to his surprise, no nearby Sam keeping watch.

For a while, he’s looking for the blade even though a part of him knows it’s not here. He doesn’t feel it’s pull.

But somewhere along the way, he forgot all about it and realized he was looking for Sam. Had been the whole time.

Stalking his brother had an unsurprising effect on him. 

He’s pissed. He wants to test how hurt that shoulder really is while reminding Sam what it feels like to be suffocated. 

But the thought of getting the drop on him and pinning him to the nearest section of concrete floor sounds good too.

“Sammy?” Dean projected his voice through the eerily empty halls, a hammer as his choice of fear inducing firepower.

“Daddy’s home.” He slammed it against a wall to build up rage and kept going on his search.

In his time away, Sam had made some coffee for himself, texted Cas with no response and read up some more on the research the men of letters had done on demons. And when the time came, he left his things at the table in the library and went down to the store room where the chair sat empty, cuffs hanging uselessly off the chair. 

Seeing it isn't even enough at first, it took a few seconds for the gravity of it to sink in. If Dean had walked out, it meant the treatments were working. But the fact that he was not here meant he still wasn't Dean yet. Which meant nothing he had would stop him. Not holy water, not the demon cuffs, the demon knife, nothing. And that thought alone tripped his heart up a few beats. 

He had Dean and he let him go. He should've frisked him down but he hadn't wanted to spend more time close to him than needed. 

No use kicking himself over it now, he needed to get on his trail again. The last thing he wanted was to owe Crowley another favor for tracking him down again. It didn't even occur to him at first that Dean would stay, if Sam had put money on it he would've said his brother would be getting as far away from here as possible. 

But all of that changed the minute he heard Dean's voice. He was here and oh he sounded angry. Downright murderous. 

Sam crept along the halls, filching the master keys for the building along the way and he made a b-line for the breaker rooms. They both knew the doors needed power to open. Sure there were manual ways about it but they were tricky and time consuming. At least this way Sam would have time to think with the added bonus of setting a little trap for Dean. 

Time would only tell if he fell for it. 

He flipped the breaker, plunging everything into emergency lit darkness. The red was a bit dramatic for his taste but he commended the men of letters for putting alternative lighting in at all. 

Closer than he would like, he heard a door slam and Dean's raised voice. Taunting. 

Their lives had always sort of felt like b-rated scary movies but this definitely took the cake. Sam found himself wishing his brother were here to admire the thematic parallels (and no doubt make a pop culture joke as he was so gifted at) but he was alone in his roost, waiting for Dean to investigate the control room. 

Just from his heartbeat alone Sam feels like he would give himself away. He can't remember the last time he was this scared on a hunt. Maybe when Lucifer’s cage opened.

There was a pattern to Dean’s maddened search. Silence. And then a loud bang and a taunting comment. Predictable until it wasn’t. 

Especially since when the alarm sounded. Dean went silent, feeling an odd sort of arousal at Sam’s ability to think on his feet.

The breakers. Smart. If only it mattered. It really showed Dean a little insight on Sam’s idea of what was going on between them. He thought Dean wanted to keep running. But why run when they were having so much fun? 

He didn’t reveal himself until he got close enough for Sam to hear. “Nice try, Sam.” He entered the control room. “But i don’t want to leave. Not until i get my hands on you.” He flipped the breakers up and turned, pausing to listen for his brother.

The door closing isn’t a surprise. Dean didn’t react much. It couldn’t hold him.

“You wanted me to come home, Sammy.” He raised his voice, an edge of a growl to it. 

Dean sounded like he was getting close to the door but he hadn’t tried anything.

Only when Sam least expected it did that hammer come swinging through the door.

That hungry, hurt thing wanted Sam. It couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to do something to him or he was going to explode. And not just in a violent rage. It felt like he was going to literally fall apart.

Maybe it was the partial cleanse. Or maybe it was all of this coming to a head.

It's not like Sam to fall for something like this, but Dean had him so badly off kilter. He came close to the door, trying to listen for what Dean might be doing in there and the first splinters of wood pelted him in the face and shoulder, clung to his shirt even as he threw himself back. 

“Dean stop.” He knew it was pointless, but just watching his brother tear through the door was like watching a beloved animal tear the intestines out of another. Sam was shocked enough that he didn't start moving until the claw of Dean's hammer was ripping the door open in chunks. 

Sam ran, his next plan coming together in even more of a rush than the one before it. Maybe if he could get to the arsenal, or even just the garage, he could restrain him again. It was his best bet for finishing the treatments. 

Before he could even get very far, he got a certain prickle down his spine that said someone was near, and he ducked on autopilot, hammer burying in the drywall where his head had been seconds prior. The rest of his self perseverance reflex went to lifting the demon knife to Dean's throat, holding him back at arm's length by it. 

Sam was winded, harried by the chase, his body excited because Winchesters lived and breathed escaping things that wanted to kill them. But his eyes were heavy with remorse and hesitation. The knife was an empty threat. 

 

There’s no sense of urgency for Dean, not even when he’s coming up behind Sam. 

There’s no fear, and no hesitation from him. Just determination to hurt him, or maybe just scare him more. Either one was fine.

He almost seemed happy to have the knife to his throat. Unknowingly, Sam had showed the beast what it wanted. What it really wanted. He gladly let go of the hammer and adjusted to let the press further than Sam was comfortable holding it.

“Do it, Sam.” He encouraged and after a long pause, both of them looking back at the other. They both knew Sam wasn’t going to do it.

Slow and careful, Dean reached up and grasped Sam’s wrist.

He pushed forward to press Sam’s back against the wall. He twisted his wrist until he dropped the knife and Dean caught it on his other hand, pressing it into Sam’s ribcage threateningly while he let his body hold Sam’s against the wall.

They were close enough to share breath.

“Do you miss him?” He asked low and rough, speaking of his human side as if it was a different person.

By now Sam knew this was Dean. Even if he was corrupted.

There's a frightened rabbit kicking at his ribcage and Dean's hold is so sure that anything deeper than a shallow breath digs the tines of the blade into him. 

“You.” He puffed out, trying to remain as still as possible even while his mind whirled about him. Trying to think ahead, plan an escape or even mutual destruction at this point. Sam knew that if Dean killed him right here and now, there would be no recovery from that. It would kill that human part of him once and for all. He couldn't let that happen to his big brother. 

“I miss you.” An important distinction to him. Sam still saw a Dean that was salvageable. At least for now. He would hold on to that hope and maybe it would help guide Dean home. 

He gripped at the wrist holding the knife with his good hand, not strong enough to pull it away entirely but he put enough pressure to gain himself some breathing room away from it. Even without the first blade, the mark kept Dean strong and battle ready. It was like trying to move marble when he used to be able to toss Dean like a sack of potatoes into bed sometimes. Or beat him six times in a row while they were drunken arm wrestling that one time. But here and now its all he can do to keep from impaling himself on Ruby's knife. 

“You don't want to do this.” He tried to reason, appeal to that side lost in all the dark. 

Dean was quiet, listening to Sam and his panicked breathing and the loud pulsing of his heart. His brother didn’t know it but the dark part of him really loved it.

“You don’t know what i want, Sammy.” He let the blade move up his body, feeling Sam resist like he thought Dean would carve him with it.

He had to admit the thought was tempting. But he knew, even as gone as he was, that killing Sam wouldn’t bring him any joy. 

The point pressed up under Sam’s chin and Dean did draw some blood but it was only surface level. Enough to sting and burn but not enough to make him feel like death was imminent.

“I don’t want to leave, Sam. I don’t want to kill you.” Dean withdrew the knife, and he used both hands to pin Sam, the one with the knife had the hilt digging into that hurt shoulder.

“Well, sometimes i do. Got all this rage inside me, Sammy. And you’re such a good target, aren’t you? You’ve screwed me over more than anyone.” He took his hand off of his hurt shoulder and it closed around his bleeding neck. 

He wasn’t choking him but he was thinking about it.

Dean did something that probably surprised Sam— he closed the gap between their mouths, slotting his against Sam’s as he beared down on him a little tighter.

It lingered, Dean’s tongue coming out to play as his grip eased on Sam’s throat. 

“I want you.” He told him, since Sam hadn’t been able to figure it out. 

“Gonna ruin you, little brother.” He bit at his mouth, tugging him off the wall with that knife in his side as a reminder to behave.

Of all the ways Dean could torture and hurt him Sam had been imagining, this was not one of them. He was more than a little stunned and it showed in the kind of open mouthed surprise Dean left behind when he pulled back. 

He would've liked to think himself capable of turning this into a plan, of saving Dean through the power of love or whatever. But that wasn't what this was. Hope didn't lie here. Dean had always been ashamed by whatever they shared. A closeness born deep of a life lived depending on one another. They never once discussed it, never put it to words and any time Sam had tried in the past (talking was sort of his thing) he'd been met with a shuttered Dean or a vanishing brother. 

So he knew that this showing up now really shouldn't surprise him. Dean was just doing what he thought was most damning of all. Loving him. 

“Dean.” He stumbled beside him, long legs getting tangled up briefly but his big brother hauled him up like it was nothing. That demonic strength was building again. Dean was feeding that smothered flame back to life. Burning off the blessed blood. 

Even with his shoulder throbbing, he attempted to grapple with Dean in the doorway of his room. The hand that held the knife seized by Sam’s as he tried to use surprise in his favor but all he gets for his trouble is a set of knuckles to the jaw that sent him sprawling. 

“Let me help you.” He panted, teeth tinted pink from where his teeth had caught the inside of his cheek. Sam hadn't even bothered picking himself up off the ground yet. 

This wasn’t the first time there was a bit of an uneven playing field here, but it wasn’t usually Dean that had the upper hand. There had been a few instances where soulless Sam had tossed him around.

But Sam had never needed any supernatural incentive. It had been him that did this to them. That crossed lines that could never be repaired. 

As soon as he was big enough and had enough hormones to feel too hot for his skin, he’d began taking from Dean. Encouraging behavior that should never have been encouraged.

They’d spent a few fever soaked years necking everytime John turned his back. So many orgasms in the back of the impala or in a rest stop bathroom depending on how far away sir was or how much time they had. 

And Dean wasn’t usually the one that started it back then. It had taken years for him to learn how to take back. It had happened along the way after Jess, when he could see Sam yearning for the comfort of it but not knowing how to take anymore. Had intensified after Sam’s first death. 

And for a long time it had been a part of their relationship that didn’t need thought. It just was. And they both pushed and pulled.

The struggle was enjoyed, Dean stood over him, flexing his knuckles. 

“I don’t need help, Sam. I’ve never been better.” Dean opened his own belt with one hand, and he advanced on Sam once more.

He drug him to the bed by his hurt wing, and he belted it to the post. Struggling on the hold would have painful consequences for Sam. 

But that was okay, Dean wasn’t asking for good behavior. 

He held the knife to Sam’s chest as he wrenched little brother’s jeans open too, eyes stuck on the way his abs were clenched.

Sam looked impossibly gangly sprawled halfway onto the bed with his sling all tangled in Dean’s belt against the post. He tilted his head as he admired it and while he was distracted he dug the point of the knife in a little too much. 

He seemed to notice when Sam made a noise. He eased off but he didn’t apologize. 

Like this, It was clear that Dean had a precarious sort of control. He could very well impulse kill his favorite person.

He seized his shirt in his hand and he focused himself on cutting it from his body. 

In slow degrees, Sam was coming down from that knife's edge of fear. He could handle this, even if it wasn't what he wanted he would at least still have time to think of a way to save his brother. Dean wouldn't kill him like this. Hurt him maybe. He kept catching that glazed look in his eyes that screamed violence but it wasn't the cool stare of murder. 

Not yet anyway. 

He let out a breath when the rest of his shirt fell away, leaving him exposed. There was mottled purples and blue along his shoulder, finger marks from both Dean and Cole in the already tender flesh. Further down was the lightly faded ink of the anti possession tattoo. Both of them were due for a touch up but they hadn't found the time, ironically enough. 

Besides that was the ridged planes of the body Sam kept in peak shape. Both of them were fit, athletic and strong just from their profession but Sam took it a step further. He utilized the bunker gym almost daily and he had always tended towards the cleaner foods. 

It was a body Dean was well acquainted with, though the body language was all wrong. He was tense and unsure, one arm secured to the bed more or less and the other fisted at his side. His gaze was steady, less afraid and more like he was waiting to see what Dean would do next. If given enough time, Dean could even witness it turn calculating as he planned a tentative escape slowly. 

When Dean leaned in to capture his lips, Sam turned his head, feeling them skirt along his cheek instead. It was a small defiance but it showed there was still fight left in Sam Winchester. 

Dean smirked against Sam’s cheek. He pressed a warm one to his stubble and another where his jaw met his skull. It would have been sweet if Dean wasn’t forcing himself on his brother.

“I thought you missed me?” He teased, cruelly setting the knife down on the side where Sam’s wing was already overly pressured with the binding.

“It’s still me in here, Sam. You said it yourself.” Had he? Or was that the scraping the top of the mind thing again.. 

“I still loved you when you were drinking that bitches blood. When you had no soul.” He licked the shell of Sam’s ear. “Hypocrite.” He accused him, as if Dean Winchester wasn’t the very definition of hypocrite. 

“Come on, it’s time for some family bonding.” He yanked Sam’s pants down which probably didn’t feel too good on the arm either.

Dean found his way inside of Sam, holding him so tight by his throat while they fucked that it was sure to bruise in the shape of Dean’s hand. Even the imprint of his plain silver ring.

He seemed to get real upset about something in the middle, made a grasp for the knife but the tell tale sign of Cas’s arrival (even like this, Dean felt the tingle in his arm), had him withdrawing sharply.

Dean stood, looking at Sam like he’d really meant to do it. Like he’d meant to kill him right then and there because he hadn’t gotten what he’d been hoping for.

Cas’ late arrival had just saved Sam’s life.

But he’s not quick enough to catch Dean. Not with Crowley laying in waiting to whisk Dean away to safety.

And once again, Sam is alone. The only saving grace was that Dean didn’t have the first blade, and Sam had the impala.

Dean wasn’t going to fall for this so easily again. Sam may have just squandered his only opportunity to save his brother.

“Sam.” Cas’ voice seemed a little extra rough lately. The borrowed grace was running thin and his vessel was feeling the effects as well. The refresher from Adina helped but it didn’t fix everything.

“What happened to you? Where is Dean?” He’d gotten here as fast as he could. Hannah had been slowing him down and he felt regrets for allowing it when he saw Sam indecently strapped to his own bed.

There's no doubt it's rougher than he's used to, but Sam isn't exactly miserable. That sick part of himself that always wanted Dean didn't care if it was just his face or the whole kitten caboodle. He had to actually focus to bite back the sounds, adam's apple shifting beneath Dean's palm as he tried to swallow down his pleasure. It hurts, but he's no stranger to that either. They both had a penchant for being rough after a few fingers of whiskey. 

The only thing that wasn't in the game was his mind. Dean's current state made it so easy to check out mentally, to compartmentalize and try and formulate a plan. Sam had considered himself pretty slick, managing to untangle some of his shoulder harness from the belt while Dean was immersed in having his fun but the accomplishment was short lived. 

He suddenly had his brother baring down at him broiling with rage and Sam was so sure it was because he'd caught on. Having Cas walk in immediately afterwards was a blessing and a curse. Sure he wasn't dead but the humiliation threatened to finish the job. He reached up and pulled the final cord so his arm slipped out of the sling and he pulled the tattered remnants of his shirt over himself to protect his dignity. 

“Cas.” He looked like he'd been through the wringer, physically and emotionally. “I--he got away. The treatment, it was working. But he walked right out of the devils trap.” And then proceeded to do...whatever it was Cas just walked in on. Not to mention the busted up door and the hammer sticking out of the wall. It looked like a fight had gone down. An ugly one. 

“Where were you?” 

“I see.” Cas’ eyes flicked away, his lips pressed as he looked down and then up and over at Sam in that tell tale angel like shame. 

“I’m sorry. I have a travel companion, currently. Angel business, another time, you have enough going on with Dean.” 

And Cas didn’t want to add to it with his own dilemma. 

The angel allowed Sam to get decent and they spoke briefly about what happened with Dean. “I will speak with Crowley. Perhaps if he was willing to deliver Dean once, he may do it again when we are more prepared. You should rest.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and watched as he slumped at his library desk.

Castiel stood there for a few moments longer, wishing he could do more for the brothers but it just couldn’t be helped at the moment.

Meanwhile, Crowley was keeping an eye on Dean tearing through a string of shitty bars in the midwest, keeping his distance because Dean was angry.

It would be a few days before he accepted him back, he knew. 

Castiel called Sam to check in on the third day while he was working a sighting.

“Sam.” He greeted, reception bad because he was traveling. “Crowley won’t answer.” Which was highly suspect for him knowing where Dean was, not that Cas was surprised.

“I would consider trying a summoning.” He suggested to the younger winchester, not knowing what else he could do to help.

Unlikely he would answer for awhile while he had Dean’s attention. He’d learned to keep the mark more fed, though he had been holding the first blade out of reach. Intimidating Crowley hadn’t worked to get it back, so Dean was laying low, trying to get on his sweet side. 

He wasn’t being out of character, he wasn’t suddenly nice to him, or returning any of the big feelings Crowley had for him, but at the end of a night of causing trouble and drowning in the misery he couldn’t feel-- Dean went with him and he gave him the attention he craved.

There was the yearning for Sam there somewhere, but he hadn’t forgotten last time. He would need to be more careful in the future. 

“Give me your phone.” Dean demanded of Crowley. Dean hadn’t carried one since the change. He left it at the bunker, and Sam now carried it. 

“Jealous type, are you, Dean?” Crowley mused, warm at his side, enjoying the frilly drink Dean had ordered him. It even had a little devil’s trident sticking out of it.

“No worries there, don’t have any other girls about.” He slid it over on the counter, keeping a close eye on what Dean was doing. He’d opened Sam’s number, looked at it for a long time and then turned the screen off and handed it back. 

It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but Crowley could sense that Dean was getting antsy. Perhaps another hit was in order, give him something to use as an outlet. 

“Come to hell with me.” Crowley asks for the hundredth time, and Dean snorted before pushing away from the bar like he always did; and the King of Hell was left disappointed, but unwilling to shirk more duties this week. 

Dean had a better idea of fun. He began to track Sam.

Sam had zero intentions on staying put in the bunker after what happened. He still wasn't quite sure what Dean had been getting at but it was clear he was torn between killing or keeping Sam as a pet. Neither of which he was a fan of. 

Besides, being in the bunker alone was eerie now. He kept thinking Dean would be around the next corner, or be lying in wait any time he entered a room. He'd redone the demon wardings to keep anything out but the devils trap hadn't proved to be foolproof. Figured, Dean would be the one technicality that made him uncatchable. The bleeding edge of human and demon enough that even the wardings weren't sure. 

He hit the road in Dean’s car (after a thorough cleaning) and set up shop in a town up the interstate while he waited for any new leads. Sam at least knew Dean's demon modus operandi now. No classic heavyweight demon signs. But, domestic disturbances, two star motels, backwater bars. He'd keep his ears out for those. It was only a matter of time before bodies started dropping around him. 

As tempted as he was to summon Crowley, Sam didn't. Even when Cas suggested it he seemed leery. It hadn't escaped his attention that Crowley had the first blade in his possession. Whose to say he wasn't betting on Dean to come back, grooming him to obey better for a chance to have it back in his hand. He didn't trust Crowley, and more than that he didn't like him. Especially not after Dean running off at his side. 

The only thing Sam didn't anticipate was that this was a two-way hunters game. Dean was likely to follow his paper trail. It wasn't like Sam had had the time recently to fill out new credit cards. He didn't think Dean would seek him out so eagerly after gaining his freedom. He had to know Sam wouldn't stop trying to save him.

Dean wasn’t desperately searching the way Sam was, it was more of a predatory sort of circle. He knew it was easy to find Sam, so he takes his time, takes frequent breaks and sometimes loses his way. 

By the time they meet up, the marks on Sam’s throat are fading. But still faint enough Dean can see his hand still there. 

Sam was in a total dive bar with nothing but locals giving him the side eye. Exactly the type of place Dean would set up his shop of sins. And big brother casually sat beside him at the bar, addressing the bartender by name. The body language she gave off said she’d slept with him already. She wasn’t really his type. Dean had always been a big tits, long hair kind of guy, and she was petite and had a crop cut. But she was easy and didn’t mind his shitty attitude so she was his type now. 

“What are you doing here, Sammy? Looking for someone?” 

It was too crowded for Sam to try anything. Too many humans. But you could bet Dean wouldn’t mind if he was set off.

 

The lead he'd followed here had been flimsy at best, but it was nearest to where he'd been and local police reports mentioned a bar fight that had sent a few people to the hospital. Agitator was an unsub who hadn't really matched Dean's description but it was mentioned that everyone had been pretty drunk. 

He doesn't know if it's a lucky break or if Dean found him first but he was more than a little caught off guard with Dean at his elbow. 

“Just having a drink.” He said evenly, eyes forward. His hand fisted around his beer. No shot glasses in sight so he absolutely wasn't drinking. He was canvassing. 

“That scuffle on Thursday, that you?” Sam hazzard a glance out of the corner of his eye in Dean's direction. Surely he wouldn't try anything here. Then again he'd healed himself in front of a civilian already (even if Cole was asking for a big ugly show of the truth) so maybe he wasn't too worried about spooking people. 

“Nah.” Dean admitted it easily. “Sounded like me though, huh? You gettin’ desperate or something?” He downed a few shots before asking for more. He smelled like he’d been at it awhile. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still dangerous.

“Relax, kiddo.” He said it just because he knew Sam hated it. He nudged a shot over to him. “You found me.” 

It really did seem like Dean had found him, though. What was he up to?

“You know why i left, Sam? Have you figured that out yet?”

 

There's a beat of hesitation, Sam mulling over the words (inwardly huffing over kiddo) and weighing his options. Getting to sit here and talk semi-cordially over drinks was an odd but maybe useful situation. Maybe he could talk some sense into this side of Dean. 

He tossed the shot back, and on the burning exhale he said, “Cas.” 

It was all he could figure. The timing was too perfect to be anything else. The demon inside repelled by grace. Afraid was too strong a word but cautious maybe? Cas (at peak performance) had ways of purifying and burning out demons. He also had an angel blade which wouldn't kill Dean but it would at least keep him down for a while. Sam sort of saw the appeal to running. 

“Am I right?” He tossed back a swig of beer to chase the absolute gut rot Dean was drinking. “You knew he would help me finish the purification.”

 

Dean smiled at his empty glass, waiting until it was filled again before he continued on. 

“Look at me.” His expression was serious, sharper than usual, but not that stony wall it was when he was angry. “This is me, man. You may not like it, and you don’t have to like it. But it’s really me in here.” He downed the liquor. 

“I knew you’d do this, you know. That’s why i had to go.” The first time he realized what he was, and when Cas showed up. 

“You want your brother back? You’d rather have me dead, than be a demon?” There was a pause of hesitation but he just grinned and shook his head. “You used to be a full on demon groupie.”

It was not the most hurtful thing he could’ve said, but the night was young.

 

The only response Sam has at first is a frown and he wrapped his knuckles on the bar top to signal for more shots. He wasn't drunk enough if Dean was going to bring up old arguments like that. 

“I'm not gonna drink your blood if that’s what you're getting at.” He murmured, polishing off his beer and he was glad for the new one when it came. 

Then there were a new line of shots and Sam took two for himself, tossing back one. 

“You drug me back from the edge then, by the way. I’m just returning the favor.” He had a point. Even if Dean had been too little too late. Even if their fighting and Dean's way of handling things only drove Sam away further at the time, he still made Sam realize he wasn't doing the right thing. No matter how “pure” his motivations had been at the time. 

“You'll thank me someday.” And maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but Dean just knew where all of his buttons were and Sam couldn't help but be a little backhanded in return. 

Dean could only shake his head. “No, Sam. I won’t. Because this is something you can’t fix. Not this time.” He seemed just as sure that he was damned as Sam was that he could be saved. 

He reached over the counter when the girl came back and he let Sam watch as he kissed her over the counter. The only thing more horrifying was how he took the bottle of whiskey from her while they kissed, and broke it on the edge of the bar. He drove the broken bottle into her stomach, just because he wanted to watch her shock. 

Better her than Sam. And man, Sam’s unwillingness to accept him just made his blood boil. 

Dean took care of anyone that tried to be a hero, but he didn’t chase after people that ran. Crowley’s lackeys took care of that for him, not that he knew. He was too focused on Sam. 

“Ah-ah-” He turned on him. “You hit me with that holy water again and it’ll be the last thing you do, Sammy.” He had blood splattered across his freckles as he closed the distance between him and Sam.

The world moves in slow motion for those few seconds. It was amazing how quickly his horror dawned on him, fast enough to make his stomach swoop dangerously. He's never seen Dean hurt an innocent like this before. Not of his own free will and certainly not unwarranted. 

He's sure he looks as greyed out as he feels, Sam didn't even realize he'd stood and backed away from the bar, just knew that there was an overturned high top between them and a mess of chairs now. 

Dean was closer to the door, though. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas..” Even if there was no demon to expel, Sam wanted to test a theory here. And that theory was that with nowhere to go, an exorcism would be agony. He flinched back when Dean started advancing and he tried to put as much of the bar between them as possible as he hurried through the rest. 

“Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.” Sam paused to kick a table Dean's way, shattering a pitcher of beer and two glasses at his feet. 

 

At first, Dean genuinly thinks Sam is being ridiculous. He couldn’t exorcize him if this was really him. He’d never left his body. His soul was intact and in place, it was just wrong. 

But it makes him feel a little sick, and then there was that too full feeling. The smoke testing the bounds of the vessel and Dean seemed to realize that he may not be as attached to this body as he thought he was. 

If Sam really exorcized him, he’d be sent to hell, right where Crowley wanted him. And then he’d be stuck. And Dean didn’t want anyone containing him. 

When the smoke was pushed beyond its limits, Dean dropped to his knees, eyes solid black as he dry wretched. He visibly tried to keep it down, making a lot of protesting and frustrated noise, and when he looked at Sam again, there was blood coming out of his mouth and ears and nose, and even his eyes. Anywhere a demon smoke could get in or out was being potentially ripped apart.

Sam was really killing him this time. Maybe not his being- maybe not his soul- but his body. Sam was going to destroy it. 

Dean went down the rest of the way, helpless and clawing at the floor to try to muster the strength to get to Sam, to make him stop.

“Sammy.” He looked up at him with those bloody, black eyes. His teeth were grit together and stained. It had taken so much effort and willpower to even manage his name.

He wasn’t begging him to stop- he was warning him.

Dean didn’t want this.

It's wasn't the intended effect, but it was more of a reaction than he had expected. Sam rushed forward while Dean was still down and he cuffed him, behind his back this time. He forced himself to slow down and really give Dean a thorough once over, pulling even his ring off because his brother was crafty like that. 

He hauled him up one armed, surprised at how little fight he had left in him as he hauled him out. He should've tried the latin first, he wouldn't have had to take a pistol to the head just to catch Dean distracted. 

Sam shoved him into the back of the Impala and they tore out of there. The mess they'd left behind, it was time to lay low, not draw any more attention. 

He didn't bring him back to the bunker, instead he sat Dean in a chair in his motel room and pushed the rest of the furniture wide enough to start a devils trap on the tile floor. No way was he going back to the bunker. He didn't need any more nightmare fuel there. 

“Cas.” He had the phone cradled to his ear as he drew. “I got him. I'll text you the address.” Sam hung up and surveyed his work. This time, he knew it wouldn't hold Dean for the whole process so he planned on securing him better. 

Moving Dean was getting more difficult now that he was recovering but Sam was still feeling like he had the upper hand here. 

“Knock it off or I'll start again.” He warned, going again for Dean's arm to pull him out of the chair. It's empty twin was sitting inside the trap, waiting for him. 

Dean wasn’t much trouble on the way there, but he wasn’t docile in the room. He pulled and leaned away and complained. Not at full power but not weakened as much as before either. He was a mess of blood, and anger. And that didn’t bode well for Sam. 

When he hauled him towards the trap, he got a good headbutt in to Sam’s jaw. So hard and pissed off it probably felt like a heavy fist. But those hands didn’t let him go. His feet tripped up Sam’s and they hit the deck. 

Despite Dean’s hands being bound behind his back, he was still holding his own wrestling on the floor. 

Cas may be on his way, but it was Crowley that showed his face. 

Dean had just been starting to come around. To want his company (or so he thought). He had hope that Dean would be able to grasp control of himself. That he could be a damn good soldier for him. Maybe even an eternal companion for a lonely King. 

“Moose.” He greeted. “Thank you for finding him for me. Slippery bugger. I’ve got it from here. Hand him over.”

Even with his lip split and throbbing (along with his temper dealing with Dean's shit) Sam’s gut reaction is to haul Dean closer and put himself between them. 

“You're not getting my brother.” He grit out, fingers digging into Dean's arm like he could will him to stay put. “We had a deal Crowley, aren't you supposed to honor that?” 

To be technical, the deal was Dean's location for the knife but that was splitting more hairs than Sam wanted to. Couldn't this work out just once in his favor? He'd worked so hard to get Dean, it feels like he's been running after him for a lifetime now. Maybe if he stalled for enough time, Cas would show. It would be better than trying to take on the king of hell and a knight while in a sling.  
“I did.” Crowley answered simply. “Are you surprised, gigantor? Demon? Remember?” 

It was hard to tell who was winning for a long time, Sam held his own very well. But Crowley ended up with both Dean and Sam in that god forsaken car that the two of them put so much sentiment into. 

Sentiment was lost of Crowley. 

Dean was driving, which was likely a terrible idea. It’s only so long before he felt cagey and unable to control the urges he was having. He was so angry with Sam. So very angry.

They end up pulled over at a long closed gas station, Dean and Crowley arguing in the front seat like a true married couple. The king of Hell had not approved of the Winchester in the backseat, but Dean was just as out of his hands as he’s always been. 

Dean must be sensing that Crowley was losing his desire to stick up for him, so he grabbed him by his tie and kissed him on the mouth, all while Sam was in the backseat, beat to hell and bound so tight with rope right out of the impala’s trunk. 

Demon or not, Dean has always been a trying guy. Especially for the king of hell. But there was something in Dean that drew him in unerringly. A metaphor which was quite fitting considering the moth's imminent demise after reaching it's goal. Sometimes he could feel the burn coming, other times Dean surprised him with it. 

Tonight was a surprise. Why keep Moose prisoner in the back seat after spending weeks on the lamb trying to avoid him? And if it was just for some fun why not kill him now and get it over with? Crowley just didn't understand. He had the Winchester he wanted and Dean had the freedom from hunting and responsibilities he wanted, the rest was disposable. 

“Well,” he said once the use of his mouth was his own once more. Crowley smoothed his tie down primly, but that look in his eye was anything but. His voice turned husky and even more smokey. “Now we're bloody getting somewhere.” 

In the backseat, Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed, audibly. 

“Be quiet Samantha. Let daddy show you how it's done.” Crowley dipped in for another kiss, this one skirting along Dean's jaw right where Sam knew he liked. It was just disturbing that Crowley also knew that. “If we can't kill him, can we at least hurt him?” He coached, voice rough against Dean's ear and in the backseat Sam went stiff and wide eyed. Deer caught in headlights. 

Oh this was bad. 

Very very bad. He started pulling with more fervor on his bindings, despite the screaming pain in his shoulder. Sometime during the scuffle he'd lost the sling. 

Crowley slipped a knife into Dean's hands, teeth tugging on his ear. 

“Cut him a little, right here.” He tapped Dean's collar bone. 

 

Dean considered what Crowley was asking of him. He wanted to hurt Sam. But he didn’t like listening as much. Though he had proven more than once now that if the request matched his wants, he was at least partially willing to follow along.

Dean’s finger tips played with the short ends of Crowley’s hair while he spoke low against his ear. He let them slip through as he chased him for a kiss while he explained where he wanted Sammy hurt.

He swiped for Sam in the back seat but he dodged. Dean ended up over the seat, only his bottom half still upfront as he tried to get hands on him.

Dean got a fistful of that long hair and pulled him forward to bounce his head off the seat to daze him. 

He drug that blade from Sam’s cheek down to his jugular, not quite where Crowley wanted him to. His mouth had been taped after the exorcism stunt, so he couldn’t verbally protest. 

Dean looked over at Crowley with Sam’s head still held by the fist in his hair. 

“I always liked the jealous ones.” He seemed amused by Crowley’s encouragement. “I chose you, remember?” He eyed Crowley’s lips, before looking back at his eyes.

They were both going down dark territory. “Or is it his blood that you wanted?” Dean was referring of course to Crowley’s previously patches up addiction. 

A delightfully naughty offer, considering who was on tap. Crowley was sorely tempted to take him up on that offer. It wasn't every day you got to taste Sam Winchester, once-throne for the devil's ass. 

“Is that an offer?” He purred, watching the blood run down and stain Sam's shirt. It hadn't been a deep cut, but it was a pretty decent bleed for now. “Have you tried some?” Crowley was enjoying himself now, maybe a little too much. “Or did he drink from you instead.” He chuckled at that. Another barb in Sam's chest over his myriad past. 

The Winchester in question was ram rod stiff in Dean's grasp, not pulling too hard on his grip because his scalp was already sore but he wasn't leaning into it either. Both of them were looking at him like a five course meal and Sam had the growing dread that he was going to die in the back of the Impala. 

When the knife entered his periphery once more, Sam tensed again, trying to twist away from it even at the expense of his poor scalp. 

“Does he need to be awake for this?” Crowley was bored watching him squirm fruitlessly, he didn't quite get that Dean was getting off on it. He was maybe a little more jealous than he would've liked as well. 

Dean looked at Sam when he tensed up, expression hardening as his grip tightened. “Yes.” He answered, but he didn’t offer a reason. Dean didn’t need to tell Crowley that he enjoyed it. 

When the knight of hell in training said he wanted a place to play, it was nothing at all to have some demons occupy the nearest hotel.

When they arrived, it was just a bunch of black eyed lackey’s clearing the way for the King to have his fun with the Winchesters. Dean was dragging Sam the whole way, following Crowley’s steady lead. 

It’s a fight once Dean untied Sam. They go to blows and wrestle the way only two very powerful grown men who had wrestled one another their whole life could. It’s fists and cheap shots with their knees and taking turns stuck in locked positions until someone got the upperhand. 

And that someone was Dean. He was just stronger like this. It couldn’t be helped. 

Sam got himself strapped to a bed, each arm and long leg attached to a corner. 

And Dean standing over him, broiling with adrenaline and the need for violence. 

When Crowley stepped into his view, he seemed minutely distracted. He really just wanted to play with Sam, but he had use for Crowley. So staying on his good side seemed smart at this point in time. Manipulative was kind of in the job description, he was just surprised Crowley hadn’t caught on. 

Dean’s hand curled around the back of Crowley’s head, tilting it back as he leaned down. He bit his scruffy jaw before kissing his mouth. He cut his tie off with his knife just because he wanted to, and he knew it would annoy the vain demon.

For being run as ragged as he was, Sam still put up a hell of a fight, especially considering he couldn't heal like Dean. He's well aware that escape was near impossible but he couldn't just give up it wasn't in his blood. 

What finally takes the wind from his sails is his arm twisted behind his back, shoulder threatening to shift out of it's socket again. He couldn't help the shout of pain as Dean pulled it tight and he went limp in his grasp. Unresisting, dripping sweat with his breath wheezing out of him and head bowed. 

“You two put on a good show. Brava.” Crowley admired the sight as Dean strung his brother out on the bed. He looked downright sacrificable. It left the demon to wonder if he put the first blade in Dean's hand right this moment if he would kill Sam. Not a hunch he was willing to test, though considering how unpredictable Dean had been up to this point. He was just as likely to put it in Crowley's chest. 

As if he knew the doubts Crowley was inwardly having, his little hellraiser came to pay him some attention, soothe imaginary ruffled feathers. He was more than pleased, though his brows lowered when his tie was sliced away. 

“That was armani you know.” He complained mildly, pleased enough to have Dean's attention in the good kind of way even with Sam laying right there. “Would you like to do the honors mon ami?” Little pet names, Crowley had so many of them for his knight. 

He produced a syringe between them, eyes glittering with the promise of getting to sample Sam Winchester. If they were going to keep him he might as well be useful. 

Dean smirked a little at the syringe. A little playback sounded good. Sam hadn’t been exactly gentle about the way he tried to purify his soul. He took it when it was offered and approached Sam. He stabbed it into the meat of his arm, too deep to get anything but muscle. “Oops. Missed.” He pulled it out again and got him in his chest, high up by his shoulder. “Again.” He finally eyeballed the artery in his neck and hesitated before he got what Crowley was looking for. Some nice, warm arterial blood from his favorite Moose. 

He waved it a little at Crowley, eyebrows raising in offer, a playful twitch to his lips. He tilted his head at the twin next to Sam and he met Crowley there. “Where do you like it?” He asked him, free hand tugging on Crowley’s suit jacket. 

Dean sat on the bed, legs wide, sleeves rolled up, ready to help the King of Hell relapse. 

While he'd had his hands free for the fight earlier, Sam had pulled off the tape on his mouth. He had been good so far, but once Crowley was high on blood he would make his move. Dean had done too well of a job binding his feet (probably because Sam had kicked him as hard as he could in the dick while they were fighting) but he'd slowly been worrying at the cord on his wrist. The phone on silent in his pocket was looking pretty good right now. 

Surely Cas had at least made it to the wrecked hotel room they'd left behind. 

He waited and watched as Crowley slid out of his jacket and cuffed a sleeve. As much as he wanted to be sick at his stomach, it was a cruel reminder that that had been him once upon a time. Though he'd skipped the needle entirely. 

The king of hell let Dean tie his arm off, lids lowered because this was rather intimate especially for a creature like Dean and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“Go slow darling, it's been a while.” It was almost teasing, but Crowley sounded downright pleased at this turn of events. He leaned against the headboard while Dean slid into the vein and hummed at the first press. 

Sam twisted his arm against the ropes, wrist bleeding inside it's coils but it was only helping the slide. He was rehearsing the latin of the formal exorcism in his head, waiting for the right moment to spring it on Dean. 

Going slow was a command Dean didn’t mind listening to. He was enjoying this, too. And getting Crowley high would mean him needing less attention, and he could pay more to Sam.

He climbed over Crowley to kiss him while it set in, hands moving over his body to have him feeling desired. 

When his ‘partner in evil’, or whatever Crowley wanted to call them today, was in bliss and unsuspecting. He used the needle on his other arm to get some demon blood for his other addict.

“Thanks love.” When Dean said it, it was flat and rough. Not at all the pleasant lilt Crowley had. And also highly sarcastic.

He went back over to his brother, eyeing him like he knew he was up to something but unsure what it was.

“Open up, Sammy.” He twisted the needle off and tossed it aside somewhere. Dean put a knee in Sam’s hip and an elbow in that attractive dip in his chest while his hand took his jaw, fingers pressed into the hollows of his cheeks to try to get his mouth open. 

“You know you miss it.”

The blind panic and revulsion that started to build the moment he knew what Dean was doing was almost debilitating. Sam locked up when his brother's weight dipped the mattress and he clenched his jaw so tight he saw stars. 

Before Dean could make the decision for him, he spilled out as much of the latin as he could manage, hoping desperately it was enough to incapacitate Dean. 

“Regna terrae cantate deo psallite domino qui fertis ascendit super caelum caeli ad orientem…” Dean’s fingers were digging into his jaw so hard it was difficult to even form the words and the jab of the syringe into his mouth cut up against his gums and ruined the rest before he could say them. 

Sam doesn't swallow, downright refuses until Dean's fingers are pinching his nose shut and massaging his throat. It goes down against every will he has and he didn't even gag on it which only humiliated him more. 

He looked up at his big brother, expression broken and so betrayed. This was the worst thing he could've done. Sam would've preferred a knife in the back to this. 

But it didn't last. A flush of excitement broke out along his skin, and his eyes darkened to nearly black. Crowley was a strong demon. Stronger than Ruby that was for sure. Sam's head knocked back against the headboard and he groaned thickly, mouth tinged red. 

The latin was infuriating and uncomfortable and it took a moment for things to settle in his skin when it was over. 

Taking a step back, he admires the both of them on their respective sides, both high at his doing but where human blood was a bit of a downer for demons, Sam had gotten the upper, and he stuck with him for now.

The taste of betrayal on his expression had been pleasing. 

“Knew you’d like it.” Dean sat beside him, smearing his thumb across Sam’s bloody lip to help pushed the remnants into his mouth. 

Sam would feel this for days by the looks of it. 

Cas felt the tug of prayer or strong thought and it led him right to Sam. His arrival signaled an end to the party. There were expelled demons along the way to the room, and when Cas entered the room, it was to face Dean, confused about the scene he was walking in on.

Crowley and Sam were each on a bed and Dean was shirtless and drinking and he had the knife again. He’d carved a few lines in Sam while taunting him. 

But it was left unknown what else may have happened to Sam if Cas hadn’t arrived when he did.

The angel used the last bit of strength he had left to subdue Dean, looking up at Sam, expression stern and worried.

This was a very bad situation.

“It’s done, Dean. It’s over.”

Sam broke the wood bar off the headboard his wrist was attached too and he made quick work of the rest. It was a mistake, giving him the blood on more than one level. Dean seemed to have forgotten it gave him control over demons. 

When Crowley made a pisspoor attempt at interveining, Sam pulled him right out of his meat suit and the body dropped heavy back on the bed while the red plumes escaped out the door. Sam was furious, he was beat, he was exhausted and hurting. But most of all he was determined to make sure Dean never did something like this again. 

“Thanks Cas.” Sam's own eyes were demon black himself, just the edges a thin glimpse of white. He always had the ability to be a monster, he just worked every day to tamp it down. To stay away from the source of it all. 

“Think you could knock him out for the ride home?” The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in a car post blood dosing with Dean's smart mouth and Cas as witness. Sam was embarrassed enough as it was. 

Cas at least waited until Dean was bound and out in the backseat of his shitty car to speak up. 

“Sam, what have you done?” He asked him. “I know you want to save Dean, but this is not the way.” 

The angel was assuming that Sam was dosing again to be a better match for Dean. It fit Sam’s m.o. He always was one for the grey area.

Hearing such a blatant assumption stings more than he’d like to admit. Sam exhaled roughly, insides broiling hot in that way that made his temper want to flare and catch fire. He and Dean had had some of their most explosive arguments while he was on demon blood. 

But he isn't knee deep in a binge, so he drew back and forced himself to cool down before responding. 

“It was Dean.” His voice came out rough, everything about him was. Sam felt ready to sleep for a week once this all was over. “He dosed me with Crowley. I don't know what he was thinking.” He rubbed at his temple, feeling that power throbbing inside, waiting to be used. How could something he’d forgotten about for so long feel so familiar? 

“Thanks, by the way.”

“I see.” Cas answered just as a rumbly as an old radio. “It makes sense, actually. Giving you the blood of someone so powerful. He probably wanted chaos from you.” A better fight. Which meant he must be getting bored of their childish cat and mouse and wanted something bigger and more destructive. 

And Mother Hen Crowley, dosing him to get out from under his watchful eye. Dean was as manipulative as Cas expected him to be as a demon. These Winchesters, when they became other, they raised the stakes so easily.

“We need to end this, Sam. Before he does something he can’t come back from.” There was a pause. “Even if it kills him. You know that.” He was just preparing him. They had a track record of trying to back out of losing one another at the last minute.

“You don’t need to thank me. You know how i feel about Dean. And about you.” He had become a part of this circle of savior and he had no intentions of ever telling them no when they needed him.

They strap Dean down in the same manner, but Castiel stayed in the circle with him when Dean began to weaken, ready to replace the cuffs when there wasn’t enough Demon left for the wards to hold him.

He kept his eyes on Sam’s, both of them silently encouraging one another to keep going even though Dean had begun to cry in between screams because it hurt so bad. 

The holy water had stopped working, as well as the wards, and Dean’s body seemed so exhausted. 

At some point, he’d lost consciousness and when he awoke, it was in Cas’ arms in the middle of a devil’s trap, blinking tired glassy green eyes up at Sam.

“Sammy?” It sounded much more like big brother this time. And the confusion on his face said it had worked.

There was no more anger, no more violence behind his eyes. Just soft confusion.

“Cas? What’s going on?” He looked over his shoulder at him.

“Hello Dean.” He smiled tight and meaningful, beginning to let him go.

Reaching the home stretch had been the most trying time; listening to Dean suffering and fearing his body would give out every step of the way. But here he was, bright green eyed and voice gentler but heavy with emotion. The difference was night and day, there was no way it could be an act. 

Sam let out a breath he’d been holding for weeks and promptly sat down at the table where the empty blood bags and needles were. He put his head in his hands and seriously wondered if he’d be able to get up ever again. The thought of walking away from this all also occurred to him, but he wouldn’t without Dean and his big brother would never be able to put down the gun if he knew people were out there dying. 

He just needed to rest, regroup a little. 

And then they needed to figure out how to get this stupid mark off Dean before it turned him for good.

Sam realized they were talking to him and he dropped his hands from his eyes, vision swimming with spots and colours from how hard he’d been rubbing. 

“Welcome back Dean.” He didn’t know if that was the right response, hadn’t exactly been paying attention. If Sam was being really honest, he’d felt pretty off since the demon blood yesterday. Still broiling and cooped up feeling (that power wanted to stretch it’s legs) but coming down in slow degrees. He just wanted it to hurry up and burn through his system so he didn’t have to feel like this anymore. The desire for more was already clawing at his insides. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the day prior, hours before Dean had crashed his bar stakeout. 

He knew Cas was worried, he’d offered more than a few times to make a food run, or suggest Sam lay down and rest a little while Dean was in between doses but he’d refused. The most he’d done was shower and change, and tied a shirt around his neck for a makeshift sling. Besides that, he hadn’t wanted to let Dean out of his sight until he was cured this time. 

The guilt was already eating Dean up inside. In front of them both, he pretended that he didn’t remember, but he did. He remembered everything and he felt sick to his stomach. How many awful things were they both supposed to have the burden of remembering? It was amazing they got any sleep at this point. 

Cas helped him up and he let him. He could hardly look at Sam when they passed by one another. He could tell his brother needed some space right now, and Dean was inclined to let him. 

They’d both been through a lot recently. Something he discussed with Cas. It was easier to talk to him right now, because he hadn’t seen him during his sabbatical, there was nothing to feel guilty for with him. 

He tried to fish around for how Sam was feeling, and Cas does his best to try to soothe Dean’s guilt by reminding him that they’d survived worse. But he did suggest they take a break from hunting, saying that maybe Sam needed it, to encourage Dean to follow the advice. And it worked.

Dean had Cas leave him so he could shower and try to put himself together again, and the angel went back to Sam. 

Comforting him and offering to do tasks for him hadn’t working, so he tried another route, moving onto the next problem. 

“There’s still the matter of the mark, Sam.” Not knowing it was the worst route he could’ve tried to take. Sam was tired. He needed to recover first. 

He ended up leaving the brothers, unwilling to make it worse, but he stayed close, just incase he was needed. 

When Dean met up with Sam again shortly after, he was dressed and his ring was back in place. His expression said it all. It was that strong older brother look, like he was trying to keep it together for Sam when he really felt like falling apart. 

He doesn’t say he’s sorry, but the hug he gave his brother said it for him, his fingers curling into his shirt, mindful of the shoulder, but his face was tucked into his neck like he never did anymore. 

Dean was exhausted, and starving but making sure Sam was okay was more important than anything else.

It’s not Cas’ fault, but Sam felt like a bowstring ready to snap the minute he was trying to bring up the problem they both knew existed now. His jaw clenched and he exhaled through his nose roughly, displeasure visible in the line of his shoulders. 

“Yeah.” It was curt, and short and Sam would be sorry later but right now he was just glad when the angel excused himself to tend to his own matters. 

The hug from Dean was a good consolation prize, though. His big brother always seemed to know when Sam needed it, when he felt everything so precariously stacked inside that he needed someone to help push them all back in line and nothing did that better than a big squeeze from Dean. 

When they both pulled back, Sam’s eyes were glassy. Usually, Sam was all over asking Dean what he remembered, trying to suss out how bad his brother was hurting because he’d never say it on his own but this time he just squeezed his shoulder and gave him a pat. If they could get away with it, he was just fine never talking about the past few weeks. And especially not last night. 

“Here.” He dropped the Impala’s keys into his hand and turned away before he said something stupid. 

Dean looked down at the keys, sucking his lips in against his teeth. His head bobbed a little in a bit of a nod and he pocketed them. He knew he messed up big this time. He hadn’t been in control, they both knew that, but it didn’t make it feel like any less of his fault. 

He got a bottle of Sam’s favorite liquor to get messed up on, and two shot glasses and he sat at the table with him, keeping the small glasses full. 

He knew when they needed to just forget, and this was one of those times. Sam deserved to get drunk and check out for a bit, and Dean didn’t trust himself to be alone after what happened.

Everytime he closed his eyes he could see Crowley, but the more they drank, the less clear that image was. 

They looked as beat up as they felt, Sam with his sling and his bruised neck, Dean with the track marks all over. 

“You want a divorce, don’t you?” Dean asked, covering up his own feelings with a joke while filling Sam’s glass and not his own. His lips were feeling numb. 

For once, Sam was out pacing Dean. He wasn’t holding back in the slightest. They were safe at home, no one was dying and he was exhausted. He needed this. The glass thunked against his front teeth when he raised it this time, a sure fire way to tell when he was getting a little sloppy but he was still alert and looking pleased.

“Mmm.” He made a considering sound while he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing and pulling the bruises taut. “Nah. Too much work.” It was a good sign, him teasing back. In the worst sort of times, Sam tended to lose his sense of humor, especially when it came to Dean trying to avoid problems but he seemed on the level tonight. Ready to forget and start chipping away at the tension between them bit by bit. 

“Why, you thinkin’ about one after all this?” He motioned vaguely around them. Over his shoulder, there was a hole in the wall where Dean had swung the hammer at his head. 

Dean facial shrugged a little, looking at the empty glass in his fingers and up at his blissfully drunk brother. 

“Nah. Pouring some brain bleach in my ears, maybe.” But not a divorce. Sam needed one, in his opinion. He shouldn’t forgive him, not when Dean’s darkest desires amplified had been to hurt Sam in every way. 

This wasn’t the time for old arguments. This was time to stop fighting it and let Sam help him get this damn mark off his arm. And well.. if it wasn’t possible, then Dean needed to find a way to get rid of himself without turning into that thing again.

He shivered and took another shot, filling Sam’s glass too. 

“We should, uh… stay home for awhile. I think we earned it and all.” He was bad at the whole self care thing. Sam knew that. But after what he put his brother through, he had some giving to do. He couldn’t be selfish and drown them in work like he usually did.

“Sure Dean, whatever you say.” Sam toasted his glass before shooting it back in one go like it wasn't a double. He alone put a pretty big dent in the bottle and together they polished it off. 

They didn't talk much more, but Dean had caught him rubbing his temples more than once, and Sam had just brushed it off as a normal headache. Nothing like being dodgy about demon blood cravings. What a blast from the past. 

By the time it was gone, Sam had moved from sloppy drunk to his usual pouty, sleepy self. He shuffled off towards bed leaving a trail of clothes down the hall including his makeshift sling because drunk him didn't care. Sam sprawled out on top of his bed covers in just his briefs and hugged his pillow to his chest. Dean probably could have timed it all to a T Sam was so predictable when he was drunk. Even more so when he hit it hard to forget something like tonight. In the weeks after Jessica he had spent days stinking drunk. They had been unfamiliar with one another then, but Dean had a wicked learning curve and he'd caught on with how to take care of Sam. 

Dean lazed about behind him, stumbling down the hall with heavy boots and swinging his arms occasionally at the floor to gather clothing. 

He dumped them on Sam’s floor in the corner and he spent a long, long time just sitting beside his bed. He was watching him and thinking about everything and nothing. Avoiding sleep. Avoiding Crowley, but eventually he succumbed, sitting up in a chair beside Sam’s bed, empty bottle tipped over between his feet. 

Dean was gone when Sam woke up, but he wasn’t far. He was working on the Impala, blasting music and drinking beer. So he was at least not getting drunk in the morning if it was beer he was going for. 

The cereal was out and not put back, his dishes in the sink, so he’d eaten. And Cas was with him, mostly just keeping an eye on Dean while Sam rested. Dean knew what he was doing, but he wasn’t about to admit that he appreciated it. He didn’t trust himself either. 

Dean was bent over the inside of the hood, scrubbing the shine back into the new parts he’d put in her over the years, but he didn’t have to see Sam to know when he’d found them. 

“Didya get the greasy egg i left you in the ashtray?” He joked, pulling himself out of the car and turning to lean against the car, covered in grease already and sunbaked. He was enjoying being outside for the first time in a long time. 

“Come to relieve my babysitter?”

Cas gave Dean a lovingly bored look before turning it to Sam. 

The angel in question didn't know much about cars other than the fact that Dean loved this particular one. So he watched quietly and didn't bother him with too many unnecessary questions. Dean seemed to be enjoying himself and he was safe, which was what was important. 

Sam scoffed at the mention of a greasy breakfast as he walked out of the garage and into the full sunlight. He looked tired still, the spaces beneath his eyes still dark and heavy but he was a perfect match for Dean in that regard. 

He had a book in one hand and a thermos in the other so he really was here as the relief team. 

“It's my turn isn't it?” He said just as lightly. Both of them seemed willing to use the thin veil of humor to hide this ghastly situation. Or at least to avoid talking about it. Sam had a lore book on removing curses in his arm, so it wasn't exactly out of mind entirely. 

He deposited himself on the knee wall that ran along the drive, his back to the sun as he cracked the book open and started in. 

Cas lingered for a while longer, curious to see if they were patching things over, but also maybe a little because neither of them could be trusted right now. Sam had what could be characterized as a relapse and Dean was a demon less than a day ago. His phone reminded him that he had other things going on though, and eventually he stepped away to tend to them. 

It’s quiet for a long while after Cas left. Sam reads and Dean cleans and maintenances his baby.

There’s a food run from Dean, and he’d be lying if he said he was anxious the whole time he was away from Sam. Afraid to give into the mark after all that’s happened. Afraid of fucking up and hurting Sam some more.

When he got back, there was a meaningful squeeze of Sam’s good shoulder. He dropped the food bags on the table and sat beside him.

“Anything?”

It was mostly to make conversation. He’d woken to a nightmare this morning, of Crowley in his ear telling him to kill Sam. Dean had that hammer in his hands, he was sitting over Sam. It had felt so real.

He was thinking about asking Sam if he wanted to hit the road. Not to work, just to spend some time together, but he would try one more night here.

 

Sam's food was open, he even had some lettuce skewered on his fork but he hadn't eat much if any at all. He seemed distracted and not entirely by the book in front of him. 

“Hm? Oh, no. Not really.” He sighed through his nose. “There's a few others I pulled.” Other topics he thought might be relevant. Hold some information or even just a clue where to start. “I'll find it, Dean.” It sounded more like a hope than a promise, but it was no less genuine. 

He flipped to a new page, mind half registering the words in front of him because there was a quiet chatter in the back. A yearning and a hunger he told himself he'd never feed again. 

 

Neither one of them could handle anymore negativity right now, so Dean just says,”I know you will, Sammy.” He recognized the type of distraction Sam was under and he knew it was all his fault. That ugly thing inside of him still held so much disdain for the good ole days and it had really lashed out at Sam for it. His little brother must be going through a lot he wasn’t saying. 

He ate, as ravenously as ever. Very little could affect Dean’s appetite. 

After awhile he leaned over and snatched the book, putting it facedown on the table to hold Sam’s place. “That’s good for now, Sammy.” He had that i’m older tone. It was a little bossy but not much different than normal. 

“I’ve never been so embarrassed.” He spoke more intimately, low like someone might hear them talking feelings.

The admission startled a laugh out of Sam, which was probably in poor taste considering how difficult it was to get Dean to talk about anything let alone feelings but he couldn't help it. 

“You're embarrassed?” He shook his head and started packing up his food for for the fridge. Dean's garbage got collected and pitched while he was at it. Without the book in his hands Sam was unable to sit still and he was maybe getting some distance between Dean and his newfound desire to share. 

It figured the one time Sam didn't want to rehash things, Dean was more than willing. He was fine talking about some of it, hell even most of it, but if the words demon and blood and sorry came out of Dean's mouth Sam was prepared to go full Dean and lock himself in his room and play music so loud no one could talk about anything. 

“Yeah, i’m embarrassed.” Dean sounded defensive already, but not upset. Just impossibly more embarrassed by Sam laughing at him. Dick. 

“I mean, Crowley- And all of it.” He shook his head, hating to think about it but unable to stop. It probably surprised Sam, but instead of a sorry (which was easier to say than most things) Dean said,”I never thanked you.”

They weren’t the thanking type. They usually spent their time being ungrateful and mad at the other’s sacrifice. 

“I’d rather be dead than be.. Whatever that was.” He got up to chase Sam’s escape casually. “Please.. Don’t let it happen to me again, Sam.” It was so unlike him to ask for help like this. There was the whole you know kill me if you have to and those sorts of requests. But this was Dean with furrowed brows and soft green eyes asking Sam to protect him. He was that afraid of what he’d become. Of the things he had done. 

There's a few choice words they never say to one another. It was implied because they were family and cared about one another, but if you heard a Winchester say thanks, or I love you the world was literally coming down around their ears. They were, effectively, the big guns. 

One could stand to reason it made the times they did say it more important, more meaningful. But really they just never failed to put Sam on his ass. 

His brows shot up, but he let Dean go on unabated. 

“Of course man, we're going to get this thing off you Dean.” More determination this time, less wishful hope. Hearing his big brother scared really bulked up Sam's confidence in himself to find a solution. “In the meantime. Don't die again, yeah?” 

Sam had his suspicions that Dean could become a demon again on his own; that he would spend the rest of his days with the mark on a narrowing line between the two until there was nothing left. But he felt that the first big push, the catalyst if you will, had been the angel blade to the heart. 

It had given a chance for the mark to take the wheel while Dean’s mortality recovered. 

It was comforting, hearing Sam’s confidence. And he didn’t have anything else to go on right now. 

Dean doesn’t last more than two days in the bunker, and less than four on the road before he weaseled Sam into letting them get back to work. Cas said Sam needed a break but Dean could hardly get him to put away the books to spend time together. 

No, they needed to work. Dean needed to work. And the mark-- it needed to kill. Not that he was offering up that information to the masses. 

Their relationship is being repaired over terrible puns and steady avoidance of both of their nightmares. It was just a part of the life at this point. Dean tried to kill Sam, earnestly. They weren’t going to get over it overnight. 

Of course, it takes a few jobs to get a kill and when it happens, Dean goes way overboard, and he blasts music the whole way out of town to shut Sam up from trying to connect it to the mark. He knew it was a problem, he knew it was influencing him, and he damn sure didn’t want to talk about it. 

Cole catches up to them, and it doesn’t have a terrible ending, but they have to go back to the bunker to lick their wounds. Dean promised to tell Sam when he was getting close to the edge, but he just can’t bring himself to say it. He’s just holding out for Sam to have some answers, for someone to have some answers.

Dean dreams of himself in the middle of a room of death, and along the way it comes true. He doesn’t sleep for days, and he knows he’s worrying Sam, but he can’t help it. 

They’re losing. And Dean needed to get away from Sam before they had a repeat of when he went dark. He couldn’t stomach it again, letting Sam be the punching bag. The part of him that intensified the easiest, was the part that wanted Sam to suffer. It was becoming harder to keep at bay. 

He has to go through Cas to get away, but it was better than the alternative-- being held here to keep hurting the people he loved. He just needed to get away- Sam could keep looking for a way to fix him, Dean would too, but they couldn’t be together. 

He at least left a better note this time. It didn’t say don’t look for me, it just said:  
I can’t be around you right now

This time, Sam sees it coming a mile away. He can see it in the way Dean moves, the edge in his voice, even his appetite. In his own time, he made preparations, purchasing a fresh stock of syringes, refilled all their holy water canteens. But Dean goes and does the one thing he isn't expecting. He leaves. 

It took one very terse phone call to Cas for him to be even remotely okay with the idea of Dean out there and alone feeling like this. He's still not okay, but knowing the angel would be more or less on Dean's shoulder made it bearable. 

So, they work separately from different angles on the same problem for a while. It's Sam who thinks to ask Rowena, and Dean who brought her in and dropped her off in a warehouse with Cas. Working with Charlie’s codex and the book of the damned is slow going but the tantalizing mention of the mark and it's curse in the pages was enough for Sam to tolerate the witch for now. 

The day she translates the spell, Sam felt like the tides were finally changing. Things were finally going their way. Consequences be damned, he'd found a way to save his brother. 

Sam sees hope but all Dean sees is more impossibiities being laid out in front of them. While they’re distracted trying to gather what was needed, Dean excused himself for time to think.

He ended up ‘running’ into Crowley on his way out. Cas had called upon him for assistance, not that Dean knew, but these moments in the hall were their first alone since their time together on the road.

For Crowley to even be here helping after what happened, Dean knows that Crowley wasn’t just being Crowley. He had some sort of twisted thing for Dean that was working in his favor. 

They don't say anything, but Dean touched His shoulder and squeezed like he was Sam and that must’ve been a thank you of sorts.

With Crowley working on ingredients that seemed impossible to gather as penance for what he’d done to Dean, and Cas keeping an eye on Rowena, Dean stole his brother away for one last night together.

Sam was finally relaxed enough to let his guard down, and Dean was preparing an unspoken goodbye.

Crowley wasn’t going to be able to gather what they needed. And even if he could this major consequence thing was hanging so heavily over him. He didn’t want more bad shit to happen to other people just to save him.

There was only one person who might be able to kill him for good. And that was death himself.

“Can we just—“ Dean didn’t mean to curb his excitement. “No more talking. I just want—“ he was entering Sam’s airspace, leaning in to kiss him for the first time in weeks. Months.

Their first since Dean went dark.

Finally having a glimmer of hope at the end of this long, dark tunnel is life changing for Sam. He never would have guessed Dean was having reservations about it, they both wanted the mark gone so he assumed he was on board. Dean was usually pretty vocal in his dissent. 

To Sam at least, it seemed like Dean wanted to celebrate their small victory in a different way. Not that he was complaining in the slightest, he'd missed this though understood why both of them had needed a step back from it. Clearly, this thing between them could very easily lead to mutual destruction. Which was ironic considering when they were on the same side it also had led to the near destruction of the world more than a few times. 

His big hands cupped Dean's jaw, eagerly tilting him up and open into the kiss he was more than willing to give. They stumbled backwards blindly a bit before bumping into a table and he hoisted Dean up onto it, feeling those bowed legs slot around his waist like a puzzle piece. 

Sam wasn't reading this as a goodbye, he was reading it as a thank you. 

Dean is careful not to do too much at first, the violent side has really become increasingly hard to grasp when he had his hands on others. But Sam started doing all the right things, putting his hot mouth in that spot near his ear- and Dean couldn’t restrain himself anymore. 

His grip was too tight at times, his mouth a little too bitey, but he was all over Sam in a way that usually took at least a few passes of a bottle of whiskey. As they had gotten older, the way they came together had changed. When they were young and hot blooded, just a brush of fingers could build this sort of spark, but now it was more of an outlet, not something they just carelessly fell into for fun. They’d been through too much together. 

But the mark amplifying his feelings and knowing that this may be the very last time he has this (and man had there been too many ‘last times’ for his taste), Dean didn’t hold back. 

“Sam.” He sighed through his nose, missing a shirt and holding Sam hostage between those bow legs. At this rate, if Dean didn’t let him go, they weren’t going to get anywhere.

Sam had only managed to lose his outer layer, leaving him in one of his tighter grey undershirts. Dean however, had lost both of his layers and Sam's hungry hands dropped to his belt next. 

He pushed their foreheads together, breath slow but heavy as his fingers tugged the end from it's buckle. Sam was stuck here wondering why it felt like Dean was coasting on the breaks. Why none of this felt right. It was all skewed and one sided. Sure there was no denying Dean's passion, he was hard as a rock beneath Sam's knuckles but he got the strong impression big brother was hesitating. 

At the risk of ending it all with talking, Sam pulled back a little though he left his hands at Dean's waist. 

“What is it?” He prompted, his hazel (they were definitely more golden brown than green today) eyes dark but weighted with suspicion or maybe concern. For Sam they were sometimes the same feeling, especially when dealing with Dean. 

With very little hesitation, Dean grit,”Don’t wanna hurt you.” And it had a double meaning. He was very much going to hurt Sam when he left tonight, but it was also a literal statement. Every moment felt like a labor of love to keep the mark calm. 

“I’m okay,”He nudged his hips a little in Sam’s hands. “Don’t stop now.” He tried to refocus his brother on what they were doing and away from worrying about what Dean was going through. This was why they hadn’t done this. 

He cupped Sam’s jaw and kissed him, their teeth clacking a little, and he breathed a sorry. His skin felt tight, too tight. When their lips met again, it was gentler, Dean’s full and warm and he sucked Sam’s lower lip in. 

His fingertips got the ends of Sam’s shirt, and he pulled it up his back and separated only to playful wrench it over his head like the jerk of a big brother he was. He was grinning when Sam emerged with completely messed up hair. 

Dean smoothed it back as he pulled him in for a kiss with a smile this time, even if his grip was a little too tight on his hair, it really seemed like Dean was trying harder not to let Sam notice how hard it was to control around him.

Just to be a little shit right back, Sam tugged on Dean's jeans hard enough to land him on his back on the table, like an offering. They were bunched up around his thighs since they were still bracketed around his waist, but it was enough to get his point across. Sam wasn't afraid, he could give back anything Dean thought was going to scare him away. 

His mouth grazed along his throat, teeth scraping along his adam's apple. Sam's brain drifted briefly to the fact that they weren't alone in this building, an angel, witch, and a demon were just a few rooms away but he drug himself away from that line of thinking. Crowley was the last person in the world he'd wanted to see, but he'd been the only one who could help since Cas was grounded. They needed so many odd ingredients from all over the world and they were working in a very small time frame. 

Still, Sam would always have to live with the fact that seeing Crowley now made him irrationally angry and his head throb with want. 

When he got fed up with the desk and it's limited space, he picked Dean up again, never getting over the swoop in his stomach at the sensation of his big brother clinging to him. He loved it in a darkly selfish sort of way. Now that his shoulder was better, Sam had been all about flexing his strength. 

He dropped Dean on the bed and stayed standing at the foot of it to help tug his jeans the rest of the way off, nearly pulling his brother right off the bed. He kissed the inside of his ankle tenderly, thumb stroking along his calve. 

“Missed you.” He gruffed. 

There used to be a fight when Dean was lifted but they’d fallen too many times, and Dean had long accepted that Sam enjoyed carrying him. So he held on and suffered through it, refusing to admit that it felt good to be taken care of every now and then. 

Sam was so tender with him, he couldn’t help but grin,”Shut up,”It was said affectionately, like Dean enjoyed hearing it but was too emotionally constipated to say it back. And really, that just supported the idea that Dean was okay. He could get kind of sentimental when he was about to do something stupid. 

Dean curled his leg to pull Sam closer. He could remember a time where being naked on his back had made him feel vulnerable, but Sam had beaten that out of him, now he only felt sorry that they’d waited so long since the last time with the way things were turning out. 

From there, it was easier to get Sam in an equal state of undress, but the younger Winchester was pushing his luck by being rough when Dean had warned him that he was having trouble.

The arm with the mark ended up pressing to his chest while Dean grunted and groaned through getting fucked. He was obviously fighting something and when Sam egged him on unintentionally with the snap of his hips, he curled his hand around his throat like he was a demon all over again.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was rough but a little higher toned like it tended to get when he was in true pleasure.”Fuck.” He tensed his fingers way too much before his grip eased almost completely, big brother panting and making a fist against Sam’s throat to stop himself, his bottom lip getting caught between his teeth with effort.

Despite the warnings and red flags, Sam continues to push boundaries. He is confident enough in his threshold and Dean’s restraint now that he was human. Sure, it’s rougher than he’s used to sober, but they aren’t even scratching the surface of what he could take. Never once does Sam try to tap out, or pull away. He doesn’t even flinch when those fingers went around his throat again. 

He accepted Dean as he was, aggression and all. Besides, it wasn’t forever. Soon Dean would be cured and things could go back to normal. Sam felt fit to burst just at the thought of his brother not being on the chopping block anymore. It was stupid of them to damn him so willingly just to take out Abaddon, but whats done is done and now they needed to clean up their mess. 

Sam could feel Dean fighting it, fighting him, and he lowered to his elbows as he eased them down a little. Their lips met, Sam unsurprised at the sharp pinch of teeth against his lip but he paid him back in kind just as easy. 

“It’s okay Dean.” His voice was a little rough, likely from the finger tip bruises along his throat but he didn’t seem to mind. “Let go.” Sam dipped his head, bringing Dean’s arm up to kiss the mark were it sat vaguely hot and angry along the skin. 

“No.” Dean ground his teeth together. He didn’t prevent Sam from moving his arm, or any other part of him, but he was resistant to let go. 

It was because Sam was the worst listener in the world that he ended up forcing Dean to let go, and it wasn’t pretty from there. It was unsure for awhile if they were fucking or fighting. There was fists involved and Dean’s teeth were stained red, though he wasn’t sure if it was his blood or not, Sam had a pretty gnarly bite to the healed shoulder. 

He was quiet and avoidant after. He didn’t apologize, but the whole ordeal just reminded him of why he was leaving. It breaks his heart just a little more than he hadn’t even been able to give Sam one last good memory, even if his puppy of a brother was acting like Dean hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“You should go..” He suggested. “Keep Cas company, i-- I just need a bit.” He felt so uptight and like a loose cannon at the same time from giving into what the mark wanted without giving it blood. 

Sam gave him space, because Dean was asking, and he really just seemed like he needed to get ahold of himself before the others saw him, but while his brother was occupied, Dean left, putting so many miles between them. 

His phone was off when Sam noticed, too busy getting things ready to summon death to have Sam try to find out what he was doing. 

Really, Dean should have known better than to do this. Death always told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear. And it sucked more because he was omnipotent enough for Dean to not be able to argue that he was wrong. He wasn’t- He was Death. 

And when he said this would never stop, this cycle of sacrificing one of them to save the world, and then causing another world ending thing trying to fix the broken brother was never going to end as long as they both lived. 

Even if Rowena could remove this mark, There would always be something else. 

Dean sat by himself at the bar while Death enjoyed the mexican food behind him and he turned his phone over in his hands several times before turning it on. He hesitated before texting the coordinates to Sam, knowing he’d come running right into the trap like the big idiot he was. 

He never expected that things would turn out this way, but he supposed it would be easier. Sam wouldn’t spend the rest of his life trying to undo this. They could both be at peace finally. 

Now all he had to do was wait. He kept looking at the mark on his arm, hoping it would fade, and Death must realize what he was doing. 

“You both must die. Mark or not, Dean. We discussed this. You’ve cheated me long enough.”

They're at the bottom of the ninth inning, and their star hitter is missing. Sam spent a few ugly moments in the garage where the Impala was parked having the worst panic attack he's had since he was a kid and left alone in motel rooms too long. His first thought was that he pushed Dean too close to the edge. That just being with him had made the demon come out and Dean had gone running for the hills. 

But Crowley was here. Surely if his favorite pet project was back in action he would've split too. 

No, he knew what this was. This was Dean pulling a Dean. Thinking he was protecting everyone by getting as far away as possible. 

Once he wasn't dry heaving and hiccuping useless breaths anymore, he sat down on the tail bed of a truck they'd planned on restoring together and dialed his phone. Of course he doesn't answer, but Sam left a message anyway, pleading with Dean to come back. Telling him the spell was almost ready. Rowena was just preparing it all. 

He doesn't get a call back, but instead coordinates and it's second nature to snag the keys from one of their other cars and head out. Sam doesn't even think twice that it might be some sort of trap. 

When he walked in, his eyes landed on Death's neat shoulders. The prim way he sat always reminded him of a skeleton and the way his skin hung on his bones only helped the illusion. He could see where the iconography had come from. Sam's body went heavy, a puppet with it's string cut. 

“No.” He says it before Dean even starts talking because he thinks he has this all figured out. “No, you don't get to do this. We found the cure Dean.” And he's angry, maybe a little unjustly considering it's not his life or decision to make (at least not that he knows of yet) but that's never stopped Sam from being angry before. 

“The spell is ready.” 

Dean let him talk, but really the way Dean was holding himself should worry Sam more than anything. His eyes were softened like they hadn’t been in ages. Whatever Death said to him, it was bad. 

“Sam..” He started, sounding exhausted and defeated. 

“There’s no cure for what’s wrong with us.” He got up and approach him, meeting Sam’s anger. He doesn’t expect him to understand. 

“This is never going to stop. All of this back and forth-- What happens next? We get rid of the mark, and something bad happens, and one of us goes down to fix it? Rinse and Repeat?” He asked his brother, sounding like he was reasoning with him, and not at all like he was upset with him. 

“We have to end this, Sam. We can’t keep doing this.”

Death approached, his scythe in hand which made the hairs stand up on the back of Dean’s neck. 

“Would you like to do the honors?” He asked Dean, which eerily repeated earlier worlds from Crowley in regards to Dean hurting his brother. “If you don’t, i will. Gladly.”

Sam's expression turned soft as the realization set in slowly, somehow this betrayal hurt worse than the demon blood and he hadn't thought that possible. 

“Dean.” He'd never seen his brother give up hope in such a complete way before. “You can't mean that.” He took a step away from them both, trying to reason for their lives before Dean did something stupid. 

“If we aren't here, who's going to stop the next thing that happens? We save people Dean. We're good.” He didn't know what Death had said to him to get his brother thinking this way, how he always managed to convince Dean that them dying was the solution but Sam was sick of it. 

Dean took the scythe when Death offered it, wanting to be in control of Sam’s fate, not Death. He’d felt so sure that Death was right. He’d been so ready to put Sam down for his own good and to let Death take care of him later. 

But Sam was his soft spot. He’s always been his soft spot. And now that he was here, his resolve was crumbling. And Death must see it. 

“Dean. If you don’t, i will.” It sounded so threatening, and was entirely the wrong thing for Death to say. It struck a cord with the protective big brother in him, and instead of this being a ‘let’s fall on the sword together’ scene, it began to feel more like Sammy was in danger. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Sam.” He spoke, rough with emotion. This had to be killing Dean inside. “Death follows us.” And it never should have been summoned. Dean was regretting his choice now, because now he had yet another awful thing to do to save his brother. 

Death was always right. 

Dean raised the scythe, not taking his eyes off of Sam. His lips curled a little at the corners, barely noticeable, and his head gave the subtlest of shakes. 

He couldn’t do this. Why did he think he could do this? 

The older Winchester closed his eyes this time, and when he swung, it wasn’t Sam that received the blow. 

For one heart rending second when Dean raised his arms, Sam thinks the scythe is coming for him. But the minute Dean actually swings it's dawned on him just from his brother's expression what he's doing. It happens like a trick of the eye. There's no blood or viscera, and even with Dean's strength he shouldn't have been able to impale him quite the way he did, but the weapon must've had it's own magic because it went in like butter. 

They both watched as Death crumpled into dust, suit folding under the evacuated space into a lump on the ground. Not even the scythe was left behind. 

“...you just….” Sam's mouth went numb, he couldn't get the rest of the words out. The ramifications of this were huge. Potentially just as world ending as the spell Dean was trying to avoid. 

He just killed Death. 

Sam tried to reign in his slack jawed reaction but it was difficult. 

“Well.” He tried to kick start his brain in the direction of what they should do next, but he was stuck looking at the pile of clothes. “The spell...Rowena should be finished soon, we should get back.”

Dean looked just as surprised. He’d been buying time to escape Death again, but there he was, disintegrated in front of them. It made him shiver. That couldn’t be good. 

Before he could even answer Sam, whether it was going to be an agreement or an argument, red lightning broke through the ceiling and struck the mark on Dean’s arm. He cried out both in pain and surprise, his whole arm feeling like it was being ripped off of him slowly. 

But it’s over before he can really process it, and his arm is free of that cursed mark. He feels such weight lifted off of him, forcing him to drop to his knees, looking up at Sam like he was ready to pass out from all the excitement. 

“Sam.” This was going to be a huge argument later, Dean knew it. He’d offered Death his life for help. His own brother. 

They barely made it outside before more world ending lightning began to crack the ground all around them. 

And so the cycle began again. It was Sam’s turn this time, wasn’t it?

-end-


End file.
